


Liberation

by LiberationGuy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is a regular student, Byleth is kind've an asshole, Casual Sex, Death, F/M, Harem, LEWD, Thigh sex, Violence, harem route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberationGuy/pseuds/LiberationGuy
Summary: The Ashen Demon was a name many across Fódlan knew. A young mercenary. The son of a legendary knight. A devil who's heart refused to beat, yet walked among the living all the same. A solemn, emotionless man who dominated the battlefield, ravaging scores of enemies like a hurricane before disappearing into the night like a phantom. No one knew his face, and no one who has learned his true name has lived to tell another.But one rumor stood out from among the rest. One so ridiculous that it stuck out like a sore thumb, discounted by nearly everyone who discussed it almost immediately.The Ashen Demon was a horny, surly teenager.





	1. A Skirmish at Dawn

At the end of the line, everyone was nothing more than slave to their given fate.

They could resist until they collapsed. They could swim against the current until their muscles gave out. They could spend their every waking moment struggling to jump to another path. But for some, a miserable, short life was all the gods deemed them worthy of. And on that grim battlefield, soaked with gore and mud, many lives were lost in the most savage and bloody ways imaginable, never achieving anything more than becoming a future meal for the carrion eaters.

On one side of the field, there were nothing but wild, unrestrained barbarian. Savages. Their patchwork armor was decorated with the bones and pieces of mail they picked from their numerous kills. Their weapons serrated and rusted over, designed to inflict pain and deal gruesome, cruel deaths rather than quick and dignified ends. On the other side, knights of high birth and soldiers of low station stood together in solidarity. Whether they be clad in gold-trimmed mail or simple iron breastplates and helms, they aimed their lances forward and charged towards the barbarians.

The battle raged on for hours, both sides stacking bodies into grotesque hills. Bolts of magic flew, swords clashed, spears punched through flesh and stained the ruined lands with innards. The battle didn't even cease when javelins of light and flame rained from the sky, blowing away entire battalions of men on both sides of the field without any discernment between the two, roasting countless poor souls in a blaze of hellfire.

From the scores of savage warriors, a towering brute jumped from the ranks, looking to shake the very earth with his landing. He stood thrice the size of an average man, clothed in ragged cloth and fur, a sword looking as though it was carved from bone clutched in one of his meaty fists.The strange sword glowed bright orange like a hot cattle prod, and it carved through steel and iron like they were wet paper and warm butter. The blade even unfurled, becoming like a notched whip. Yet it still carried enough power to tear the muddy earth asunder and wipe out scores of men with a single swing.

And under that stringy, greasy beard of white, that barbaric king grinned like giddy little boy with each savage kill.

“_Nemesis!”_

From the ranks of the knights, a woman emerged. She appeared completely ill-equipped for battle, her thin sword and small shield appearing to be ornate and ceremonial. She was clad in nothing but pure silken robes, her flowing teal hair decorated with white lilies and a golden circlet. Even with all that glitter and majesty, her entire body radiated an aura of loathing and fury, her face twisted into a vicious scowl.

The barbaric king’s sick, sadistic grin widened, “Lady Serios… what an honor.”

No more words needed to be traded. Their swords would communicate their feelings. Serios and Nemesis rushed towards each other, trading a storm of furious, powerful blows, creating a raging vortex that caused both warring factions to do nothing but keep away and watch with baited breath, afraid their intervention would only slow either of their leaders down.

Nemesis’s blows were savage and heavy enough to shake the earth, but Serios was quick as she was fierce. She effectively blocked or evaded each, and while she was also unable to land any critical strikes herself, her onslaught quickly pushed Nemesis back on the other foot. Grunting, the massive barbarian threw a mighty knee into the woman’s gut. She flew in the other direction, skating across the muddy field, no being able to recover before Nemesis had unfurled his blade into his whip-like form. Laughing manically, Nemesis lashed out at the woman, using every bit of his power to ensure she wouldn’t be able to approach him once again.

Being forced on the defensive, Serios poured her focus into evading the lashes of the mighty whip, jumping or ducking around each blow. Eventually, though, Nemsis grew tired of the game. With a quick flick of his wrist, he wrapped the end of the bladed whip around Serios’s sword.

This proved to be his undoing.

Serios yanked with all her might, and the strange sword was pulled from Nemsis’s hands instead, both blades landing in the mud. Pressing her advantage, Serios charged forward, smashing a flying knee right into the barbaric man’s nose. As they both fell into the grime, Serios planted her other knee into his gut, and was quick to pull out a long, thin dagger and hold it her foe’s throat.

“Tell me Nemesis… do you recall the Red Canyon?”

Nemesis kept silent. This only further infuriated the vengeful woman.

“You took everything that I loved! You’ll pay for that! Die, you bastard! Die! _Die!_”

What little breath Nemesis had left him. His pupils shrunk, and his blood frosted over. Feeling the icy tip of dagger press further into his windpipe, the barbarian realized that his actions at the Red Canyon had sealed his fate. Like a woman possessed, Serios plunged the dagger in and out of Nemesis’s throat. When it was nothing but a messy hole, she changed her target, furiously stabbing into his face and chest. She only stopped when the blade finally snapped, leaving it stuck into his mangled flesh.

The battlefield went silent like a graveyard. The savages stood quivering in place, not believing their champion had been felled. It was all over. Serios looked towards the rising sun, it’s golden rays shining across the blades of her men, all raising their swords and lances in victory.

Serios breathed out in relief, crawling off of the dead man’s corpse. Her pure dress and face had been tainted with blood and mud, but she cared not as she crawled through the muck, towards Nemsis’s blade. Gently, she took the filth-caked weapon up into her arms, cradling it to her cheek as if it were her newborn child. She planted gently kisses at the handle, warm, happy tears streaming from her eyes.

“He’s gone now, mother… I love you...”

Watching it all unfold was a man. A man garbed in a black, watching unflinching, standing as an intangible ghost on the field. As vivid as the imagery was, it soon grew misty, and faded away into a whirlpool of green and purple. It was nothing but a dream.

And when it was over, the man found himself standing aimlessly at the center of a room. A throne room carved from cool marble, cloaked in hazy darkness. And napping on that throne was a young girl, dressed up in strange and intricate robes.

The man felt it - he was no longer a ghost. The girl stirred awake, staring at the man with curiosity in her eyes.

“Oh my. And just what are you doing here?”

* * *

Jeralt considered himself a simple man, though he was not unaware of just how extraordinary his life was stacked up to most men. While he wasn’t even remotely boastful of it, he was rather glad he had lead such a seasoned, well-traveled stint across the lands. Along the way, he gathered all sorts of outrageous and unwanted titles and honors. None of which he was particularly fond of.

No. He was a simple man.

The old mercenary rolled out of bed, still wrapped in the dim twilight between night and morning. Groaning as his sore bones and old wounds ached, he lit up an oil lantern and made quick work changing his bandages and applying a fresh vulnerary to the recent injuries peppering his right arm.

He let out a low, short grunt of pain through his nose, the healing herbs sparking a fire in his wounds. Jeralt cursed his advancing years, but cursed himself with even greater fervor for forgetting he wasn’t young anymore. He had been getting sloppy as of late. He further dulled his pains with a few quick gulps of booze from his wooden flask. Whatever passed his lips tasted like rubber and burned like it could clean rust from metal, but it got the job done. Changing into his light riding armor, Jeralt stretched out his arms and legs as he stumbled over to the window. He cracked it open, letting the cool morning breeze roll in and replace the stuffy air that had previously filled the room.

Remire Village was a peaceful and quaint sort of place, a sleepy little farming and woodworking community nestled snugly before the feet Oghma mountains, right at the border of the Adrestian Empire. Nothing special about it in the slightest, the same as a hundred other of the rural communities that he’d stopped at on the way to his next gig. Although Jeralt had learned to appreciate such quiet between his usual deafening bouts of warfare and drunken, post-battle revelry, he couldn’t imagine taking up permanent residence at somewhere like Remire anytime soon. Sealing the window shut, Jeralt gathered his sparse personal affinities and left the room. A short walk down a dim hallway later, and he found the commons room of the inn quietly abuzz with activity. As he stepped into the flickering candlelight, Jeralt felt a battalion of tired eyes over impish grins shift his way.

“Mornin’, sir!”

“Did you sleep well, cap’n?”

“Ready to head out, Jeralt sir?”

His mercenary troupe was already prepping to leave, most nibbling on their meager breakfasts whilst strapping on their marching boots. That didn’t stop the bulk of them from dropping their canteens and jerky to pay their respects to him, however.

“Yeah, yeah. Good morning to you guys too.” Jeralt grumbled, his sharp eyes roaming around the commons room. As usual, he found one man in particular missing.

“For the love of-” Jeralt growled irritably, “-alright, where the hell is that stupid kid?”

* * *

The second Jeralt opened the door, he ducked. He heard the empty beer stein whiz over his head, felt the few warm drops of brew at the bottom splash over the back of his neck, and heard a low whine and clatter as it flew all the way to the common room and clocked one of his men.

Blowing an angry snort out through his nose, Jeralt looked up to find the lump under the sheets extended only a single muscled arm out, searching lazily around the night stand for another object to chuck at him. But all the half-empty flasks and glasses of watered-down hooch were just out of the hand’s numb grasp.

“For fuck’s sake, kid. Didn’t I tell you to actually get some sleep last night?”

The lump responded with only a tired, inarticulate grumble. The arm slipped back under the woolen blanket, and the lump scooted over and made its self more comfortable with the lump lying just across from it.

“Hey! Thats enough. We’ve gotta get going soon!”

Another complaint, muffled beyond comprehension by his deep, rumbling yawns. A light squeal came from the smaller lump, and before Jeralt’s eyes, some random barmaid rolled out from under the bed, quickly gathering a peach summer dress laid carelessly across a nearby dresser.

“I-I’m sorry!”, the barmaid squeaked to the unshaken Jeralt. She quickly threw on her dress and scurried away like a mouse before a lion. With his partner gone, the lump finally surrendered. Yawning a defeated mumble, the blankets slowly unfurled, a head full of blue hair appearing before a tired, drowsy, blank stare.

“Good morning, Byleth.” Jeralt huffed, arms folded over his chest, "Now get the hell of bed, son."

Byleth sat up, letting the cotton sheets fall down his muscled chest. Now sitting, he groggily began stretching out his sore neck, “Well, it’s morning, at least...”

Jeralt stared his child dead in the face. As always, Byleth wore a bored, detached, and apathetic face. Jeralt spared a half-glance at the door, still swinging on it’s hinges after the barmaid rushed out.

“Oh? Well, I suppose you had a busy night, didn’t you? Did you have any nice dreams, or were unable to fit sleep into your cramped schedule?”

“I was actually dreaming about a girl, thank you for asking.”

“Shocker.” Jeralt chuckled dryly, “And what were you two doing, exactly? Knowing you, I’m sure it was something wholesome.”

“No. She was too young for my tastes.” Byleth returned fire without missing a beat, having long ago hardened to his father’s teasing, “She got fucking pissed when I said she was as flat as a brick wall, though.”

“Oh. Well, glad to see even _you _have some standards… now get your sorry ass out of bed and get dressed. We have work to do.”

“Right, right. Keep your pants on, old man.” Byleth yawned, already slipping on some trousers of his own as he watched his frustrated father exit the room.

Byleth hadn’t mentioned it, but his dream wasn’t as quaint as a spirited chat with some strange girl on a throne. The vivid, horrid battlefield between the knights and the savages still clung to the corners of his mind like a foul stench. He wasn’t keen on mentioning that to his father, though. The battlefield was were he was raised, and he knew in all likely-hood it was where he’d finally lay to rest. A mere dream was nothing compared to some of what he had seen.

And no matter what kind of dream he had, it wasn’t something he could afford to absently toss around in his head all day. He had learned long ago that one didn’t last long if their mind wasn’t invested solely into the fight. Byleth fancied himself ready for anything at a moment’s notice.

Still, he groaned when he heard the soldier come screeching bad news down the hallway.

“Captain Jeralt! We’ve got trouble!”

* * *

Byleth stood rigidly outside the Remire Village inn, watching with only half-vested interest as his father’s band of sellswords scrambled about, preparing themselves for an unexpected battle. Torches went ablaze, drawing in buzzing insects that were still lingering around from the night.

He already had his trusty iron sword at his side – that’d all he need for a few measly bandits. His black padded uniform was sturdy enough to take a few arrows, but light enough for him to dodge any clumsy swings of a bandit’s axe. Over it all, his long overcoat shielded him from the chilly air.

“Well, this is a fine good morning.” Jeralt grumbled, emerging from the inn with spear in hand. Sharp eyes cutting through the dark, he pointed at a hustling merc, “Campbell! Get my mount ready, pronto!”

The merc, just having finished armoring up, threw a quick salute Jeralt’s way, “On the double, sir!”

Byleth kept his disgusted grumble down. There were far too many boot-lickers in the company. Fortunately, the mix of his surly attitude and skills on the battlefield dissuaded much of his father’s fanclub from fawning over or harassing him. What exactly each of the drones considered him didn’t keep Byleth up at night either.

From the ink of the fading night, Byleth saw the trio that had sparked the commotion approach he and his father’s position.

They were a trio of youths, looking just a few years behind himself. Immediately, Byleth took notice of their fancy uniforms. Fine black silk, each with their own bright, gaudy colors for decoration. Ill-suited for direct, live combat. Yet, they were caked in mud and disheveled from a long, hasty trek. They hadn’t left wherever they had come from expecting a serious fight.

Two of them were men. One was tall and handsome blonde fellow, who carried a spear with a military poise that suggested countless hours of practice. The other was just a bit shorter, with curly brown hair and bronze skin, looking far more mischievous than his friend, and just as good-looking in his own wily ways. The grip on his bow was loose and casual, but something about the ease and grace with which he twirled the arrow in his free hand hinted he was just as skilled as his compatriot in the martial arts.

However, after that brief examination, Byleth completely disregarded the two men. His focus snapped between them.

She was an absolutely beauty, whoever she was. Far from the most curvy or voluptuous, but there was just something about the way she carried herself that immediately had Byleth’s skin tingling. Some perfect mix of grace and strength that had Byleth wanted to seize in his hands. He wanted to grab a fistful of her snowy-white hair, pull her in close and violate her with his tongue. He wanted to rend that fancy crimson garb from her body and shove her into his bed. He wanted to watch her porcelain skin flush pink, break down all that nobility about her and turn her into a shivering, panting slut begging for his cock.

He may have been a sick fuck, but he wasn’t afraid to admit it. However, something told him that she wouldn’t appreciate him laying it on so thick. So he just watched her confidently strut up to him and his father, a heavy-axe ill befitting of a girl her size in one of her gloved hands.

“Forgive our intrusion, sir,” the blonde man in blue began, setting his lance aside and folding a hand over his heart, bowing to Jeralt, “Please rest assured, we wouldn’t have sought your aid if our situation wasn’t dire.”

Jeralt’s remained cool and collected, “One of my men said you were being chased by bandits, right? Hard to believe they’d be operating all the way out here.”

“Well, they’re after more than just our gold.” the mischievous-looking one clad in yellow added, “They want our heads. We’ve already been split off from our companions. Sorry to plead, but you guys are our last hope.”

Byleth was somewhat impressed on how the rich kids were staying calm despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. But his gaze stayed on the woman in red – particularly on how those crimson tights clung so snugly to her toned legs. He lifted his gaze, and he and the woman’s eyes met. Byleth wasn’t sure if she realized he’d been ogling her, but she didn’t make any move to suggest she was offended. Instead, her blue-violet eyes meet his deep azure ones, and Byleth couldn’t help but notice how they were filled with intrigue.

Jeralt nose wrinkled, as if he had whiffed something foul. His eyes wandered across the tattered garbs of the trio, “Hold on damn minute. Those uniforms-”

Campbell returned, jogging up to them, a short sword in one hand and the reigns of Jeralt’s mount in the other. Between heavy puffs for breath, he blurted out the urgent news. “C-captain! Those damned bandits are already inside the village! There… there are way more than we thought!”

Whatever about the uniforms that concerned Jeralt quickly faded from his mind. Grunting, he quickly took the reigns from Campbell and swung himself into the saddle, “Bastards caught us with our pants down, huh? We don’t have choice unless we want to see the village burned to the ground. C’mon, son. Let’s move.”

Byleth snorted, turning to the trio. He wanted to whine about how he hadn’t even received his morning coffee or had one of the female mercs settle down his morning wood, but that wouldn’t have been a very good first impression for the woman in red.

“You three know how to use those weapons?”

“Of course.” the woman in red smiled, “And you can rely on us for support. After all, it is our fault this poor village is in danger.”

Byleth couldn’t argue that. Not that he particularly cared for the fate of the hick village or was terrified of some pack of disease-ridden thugs. Still, it was the perfect opportunity to impress the woman in red… and he could certainly use the warm-up for the battle in Faerghus.

* * *

The bandit’s weren’t too terribly formidable. Yet they weren’t entirely lacking in formation, and they seemed to stand their ground instead of immediately turning tail the moment the tide of battle pushed against their favor. A level of professionalism Byleth wasn’t used to seeing in their ilk.

Either way, Jeralt’s mercenaries easily started to push them back, even with their inferior numbers.

The battle raged just outside the village gates. The watchtower that presided over that side of the gate was set aflame by the bandits, bathing the landscape in an otherworldly orange light.

The bandit’s had tried to attack the village from a single side. A foolish plan, as Jeralt’s mercenaries easily looped around and attacked from either side of the woods, catching them in a deadly pincer that thinned their numbers to a fraction in no time flat.

Byleth, Jeralt, and the trio of noble youths went charging in from the village gates, slaying any luck bandits that had escaped the initial attack and were making towards Remire in a desperate attempt to grab a hostage or seek a hiding place. Riding forward and his mighty steed, Jeralt swatted down every bandit in his path with a single stroke of his humble iron lance.

Some ways behind him, Byleth and the nobles advanced, warily watching beaten and frightened bandits attempting to encircle them.

“Wow. These guys don’t know when to quit.” the bowman in yellow whistled. Spinning an arrow about in his hand, he spotted one rogue taking aim from the shadow of a lone pine tree. With an almost playful ease, the noble youth notched his arrow and shot down the bandit archer before he could fire.

“It isn’t as though they have much of a choice in the matter. Either they die here, or they face the executioner's blade for their crimes.” the man in blue growled. He readied his spear as a filthy bandit armed with only a rusty skinning dagger desperately rushed them.

With his first swing upwards, the noble lancer knocked the knife from the bandits hands. The bandit stood dumbly, stunned and awed, watching his dagger sore ever higher into the crisp, smoke-filled air. With his spear till raised, the noble brought it down and slashed out the bandit’s jugular.

“...filthy animals.” the noble in blue spat, wiping away a bit of the gore that had splattered against his cheek with his thumb.

Byleth’s face remained static. He scanned the battlefield carefully – not a single bandit had yet dared to approach his side. One rushed towards the woman in girl in red, but with a twirl and casual swing of her axe, the thief was knocked to the ground and gurgling on his own blood in just a fraction of a moment. Wiping her axe’s blade through the grass, the noble girl turned and spoke towards Byleth's back.

“You have a strange aura about you...” she breathed, “You’re a mercenary like your father, right? Please, show me what you’re capable of.”

“Well... how much effort I give depends on my reward.”

The woman in crimson cocked a brow, "My, my. Well, I'll be sure to award you properly if we make it out of here alive."

Byleth watched a particularly portly bandit rush towards his left flank, a war hammer held above his head. The brute was obviously intending to crush Byleth’s skull. The young mercenary made no move to dodge; he settled into his typical stance, sword held at his side, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. As the fat bandit approached, Byleth threw a short glance the woman in red’s way, making sure she was watching closely.

The war hammer dropped, and in that tense moment, all three of the noble’s astonished eyes looked right at Byleth, expecting his head to be smashed into mushy pulp. But Byleth swung his sword, the speed and force of it far surpassing any of their expectations, and parried the bandit’s powerful blow.

As the bandit was still reeling, Byleth pulled his sword to his side, the tip aimed at the bandit’s round gut. Roaring, the mercenary plunged the blade forward and skewered the huge bandit upon his sword. The war hammer fell to the grass, the bandit only looking down to Byleth with horror in his eyes. Byleth yanked out his sword from the foe's gut. The bandit vomited up red, crumbling to the ground like a limp sack of rotten meat. Byleth swung his sword around, wiping it clean. Looking over his shoulder, he shot the three nobles a small smirk. And as subtle as it was, it did well in fully displaying his confidence.

* * *

From around the corner of the burning watchtower, hidden in the shadows of a thicket, the leader of the bandit’s grimaced towards the slaughter happening at his back. Then he looked forwards, towards Remire’s gate, and he wanted to scream. The advance party he had sent was being torn apart by a single mounted man, the stragglers being picked off by a group of four miserable little brats. Things had gone so south that some of his goons had even taken off into the woods, deciding their chances of survival were better off taken with the wolves and chill of the night.

“Why?! Why the fuck are there mercenaries in some middle-of-nowhere shithole like here? Damn...”

“K-K-Kostas!” a skinny, rat-faced little bandit scurried up to the boss, “We need to retreat! Gather up with the boys back at camp! We’ve already lost most of our crew!”

Kostas wanted to punch the miserable little cowards face in. So he did. Hepounded one of his meaty fists into the underling’s rat-face, then grabbed the sniveling shit by the collar, hauling him into the air and smashing him right into the nearest tree. Kostas watched the blood splatter onto the bark and drip onto the grass, but he didn’t feel any better about the situation.

“How?! How the fuck did things go south so quick?! This was supposed to be an easy job...” the ugly, brutish bandit leader hissed, slamming his fist into another tree, not stopping until a good chunk of bark was smashed away and his bloodied fist was a pincushion of splinters.

“Fuckin’ seriously, boss! We need to cut our losses and get the hell outta here!” one of his more sturdy lieutenants stepped up, skin slick and shiny with nervous sweat.

Kostas grumbled, pulling splinters out of his fist and looking at what remained of his men. Only about twenty were still at his side, aside from the fifty or so they left at their camp. If he retreated now, he’d have less of a tenth of the men he had amassed in his long career as a highwayman. A single easy job, gone so horribly wrong it had cost him nearly everything.

The lieutenant who had warned him was rather bigger than the first coward, and Kostas wouldn’t have had such an easy time bashing his skull in. So instead, the bandit leader finally relented.

“Fine! Fuckin’ fine! You win, damn it all! Lets pull back and-”

Kostas felt a shiver race up his spine. As he was standing around whining, that mounted mercenary was swiftly closing in on them. Kostas spun around, finding the rest of the company finally stomping out the last of his raider’s resistance. They were stuck.

“Well…” Kostas snarled, turning to his lieutenant, “It was nice knowin’ ya.”

Before his underling had time to react, Kostas slashed at his thug’s knee, splitting it apart with his heavy axe's edge. The underling howled in pain, and Kostas wasted no more precious time. Ignoring the horror on the rest of his soon-to-be dead crew’s faces, Kostas grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulder and dragged him out of the thicket, towards the swiftly advanced knight.

Jeralt looked confused for a moment. That didn’t last for long. As soon as he entered the proper range, Kostas pushed his injured underling under the hooves of Jeralt’s horse, tripping it over and sending it crashing into the dirt. Jeralt let go of the reigns, landing and rolling to safety, but Kostas was already taking off like the wind towards Byelth and the noble brats.

Kostas grinned, black and yellow teeth making the perfect centerpiece for his lice-ridden beard. He could already here his men’s weapons clanging off the mercenary leader’s shield. It didn’t matter whether or not they managed to slay him, Kostas already had a plan in mind. Once he had hacked past the four brats, he’d simply break away, slip into the thick of the woods, circle around and meet back up with the rest of his men before returning to base. Kostas was a survivor, not a warrior. Pride and honor hadn’t kept him full or happy – he’d return with at least a few of those brats heads, get paid, and build his army of rogues to their former glory.

At the other end of the field, Byleth and the three nobles watched Kostas dash towards them like a madman, the blade of his crude axe still wet with the blood of his own men.

“Shit. Here comes the boss man.” the man in yellow hissed, reaching into an empty quiver, “And I’m all of arrows… don’t suppose we have time to dig a pitfall?”

“He certainly looks strong.” the man in blue huffed, the grip on his spear tightening as he stepped forward, “But I’m sure I can-”

Byleth shouldered past the lancer, nearly knocking him onto his behind. The woman in red took a short step towards Byleth, reaching for his shoulder to pull him back to saftey, but the mercenary put his own hand atop hers, pushing it down, a half-smirk betraying the blank stare in his eyes.

“You said you want to see what I was really made of, right? Well, watch close.”

The woman in red could only watch as Byleth stepped forward, his blade slung carelessly over one shoulder.

“Hey, you! The stupid kid with the blank stare! Outta my way, or I’ll have your fuckin’ guts all over this pissant village before you can even beg for your sorry life!"

Byleth kept his blank stare right on, nor did he move from his spot. He squared his feet, blade rising higher, and met the ugly bandit eye-to-eye.

“Kiss. My. Ass.”

The bandit chief growled like a starving hound. He didn’t have the precious time to waste dealing with some random snot who wouldn’t even net him a single coin if he hauled his head back to his employer. Yet, the blue-haired bastard was last obstacle in Kostas’s foreseeable future. Kostas couldn’t just turn tail and retreat to his camp empty-handed. After such a tremendous loss, he wouldn’t be leaving without at least _one _noble’s head. Kostas charged again, axe’s handle chocked low in both hands, wildly swinging at the young merc’s head.

“You’ll _dieeee!_”

Kostas sprung into the air, but his short flight didn’t make his unsubtle attack any less readable. Byleth swung his sword, smacking the head of the axe, sending it plummeting into the ground. Grunting, Kostas yanked it from the grass, throwing a fist Byleth’s way – the mercenary ducked under the blow, landing an uppercut in the bandit’s gut. As Kostas stumbled, he just barely had time to raise his axe to block a stab from Byleth’s sword.

Byleth danced backwards, keeping on the defensive, using his sword to deflect any blow that came to close. Kostas was strong as an ox and had plenty of stamina to match that power, but Byleth knew the bandit couldn’t keep up the assault forever. Byleth’s cold eyes watched Kostas carefully – he watched until the bandit’s face was dripping with sweat, till his swings slowed and became even more sloppy. Then, with a savage grunt, Byleth struck.

With an upwards sweep of his blade, Byleth chopped the head off of Kostas’s axe on a downward swing. His sword still raised into the air, glistening orange from the light of the burning watchtower, Byleth brought it back down, leaving a long, deep gash across the bandit’s chest.

Behind Byleth, all three of the nobles were left awe-struck. The woman in red in particular watched with interest, mouthing out, “That’s incredible...”

Kostas blinked. He didn’t even realize his axe was missing it’s business end until it slipped from his numb fingers, landing at his boots. He coughed, gargled up blood, tipping over and landing on his quivering knees, gasping in fear and pain.

“Give up?” Byleth spat down at the bandit, his question sounding more like a demand – a demand that Kostas knew he had no chance of rejecting.

“Please… spare me!” Kostas pleaded. He laid his hands flat against the earth, head resting between them, “I’m begging you! I’ll give up my evil ways for good! I swear, I’ll-”

A rush of white-hot pain shot through Kostas’s hand, racing up his arms, filling his entire body. Shocked, the bandit slowly raised his head, looking to his left. There, Byleth’s blade was sunk into the dirt, severing Kostas’s ring and middle finger.

“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK!” the bandit howled, rolling onto his ass, gripping at the stumps spurting sticky red all over the grass.

“Just shut the fuck up already.” Byleth ordered, not a single emotion to be read on his face. To the mercenary, the bandit lord was nothing but a squealing pig at the slaughter house, “Try to die with the tiny little grain of pride you still have left, you piece of trash.”

Byleth raised his blade above the defeated bandit’s neck, ready to bring it down and severe his head from his body.

“_NEVER FEAR! THE KNIGHTS OF SERIOS ARE HERE!_”

The booming, obnoxious cry grated against Byleth’s ears, distracting him enough to make him snap his neck towards the thick woods where it came from. A mustached warrior armed with a steel battle-axe and immaculately polished white armor burst into the field. More ivory knights followed behind, charging in on their steeds, swords and lances at the ready.

“What the hell…?” Byleth mouthed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father rushing towards them on foot, armor and weapon beat and covered in bandit viscera.

Kostas chocked down the lump in his throat. He may have spit in the gods faces on more than one occasion, but he supposed there had to be one or two out there that hadn’t forsaken him. Not wasting the opportunity, the bandit chief grabbed a fistful of dirt in with his good hand, leaping to his feet and throwing it right into the distracted merc’s eyes.

“Gah! You cheap fuck!” Byleth hollered, madly lashing out his blade in Kostas’s general direction. The bandit, however, was already gone. Dashing like he had hellfire at his heels, Kostas took off into the wilderness, leaving the scant few of his men and his noble targets behind, caring only to save his life.

“Hey! After him!” the leader of the knights hollered, pointing the spiked tip of his axe the fleeing bandit’s way. The ivory cavaliers behind him followed without question. Byleth finally wiped the dirt from his eyes just in time to watch the knights breach the treeline, in hot pursuit of Kostas.

“Hey, kid. You alright?”

Byleth watched Jeralt step up to him, discarding his broken lane and slinging the beaten shield over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Byleth sighed, taking note of his father’s beaten, bloody condition, “I should be asking you that, old man. Did ya really let those shit-head bandits get the drop on you?”

“Guess I must be getting old.” Jeralt chuckled, “But hell, I’m still alive, aren’t I? Don’t go digging me a grave just- oh… oh shit.”

Byleth blinked, taking note of the grimace on his father’s face. He looked over his shoulder, watching the three nobles being escorted to the safety of the village and the mustached knight approaching. Jeralt grumbled, hiding his face in one hand.

“Ugh… goddess help me... out of everyone in Fódlan... why'd it have to be him?”


	2. An Inevitable Encounter

**-Great Tree Moon- **

** _The icy winds of the Oghma Mountains have begun to scatter, and the verdant fields once again spring to life across Fódlan, heralding the start of a new year. As they celebrate the dawning year, the people pray they might realize their full potential, just like the tiny sprout hopes to one day grow into a great tree._ **

* * *

** _4/23/1180_ **

* * *

Byleth didn’t know the Knights of Serios from a gaggle of Hresvelg whores, but they certainly proved heir impressive work ethic to him. In the light of the rising sun, he watched them rush about like busy bees, neatly dividing themselves into efficient groups without even having to be ordered about. They swept up the remaining bandits with Jeralt’s mercenaries, a few chased down the fleeing leader. The rest either went to ensure the safety and health of the Remire citizenry by making sure the fire consuming the watchtower didn’t spread any further.

“Captian Jeralt! Captain Jeralt!” the overly-zealous knight came barreling towards Byleth and his father, “I can’t believe it! How long has it been since you disappeared from the monastery? Twenty years?”

“Just about...” Jeralt hissed like he had just broken his toe. What little color that remained went flushing from his skin. The dauntless mercenary turned his cheek, trying to look anymore but towards the grinning knight.

“Ha! I always knew you were still alive, captain.” the cheery warrior guffawed, clearly unaware of how much he was irritating Jeralt.

“Drop the titles. I hate being called a captain. I’m no captain anymore… just a wandering mercenary. And a busy one, at that. Good-bye, old friend.”

The warrior in white looked down-trodden for no longer than a split second, “W-well… alright then, if… wait, wait! This isn’t how this ends!”

Byleth’s brow furrowed, wedging himself between the strange knight and his father, “Alright, enough of this nonsense. Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I’m Alois." he bellowed with a weighty pride in his unwavering voice, "I’m a proud Knight of Serios, and Jeralt’s right-hand man!”

Byleth looked from Alois to his horrified father, wondering just what the hell the fool of a knight was on about. He knew his father to shoot down any and all discussion of himself, but Byleth found it hard to believe that the fact he was in league with an order of knights never came up.

“Is that right?”

“Hmm… and you, kid. You don’t much look alike, but your mannerisms are practically identical! Are you the captain’s son?”

“And what if I am?”

“Then I insist you two accompany me back to the Garreg Mach Monastery!”

Byleth cringed, inwardly and outwardly, breaking his usual detached mien. Stuffy, dusty old buildings filled with a bunch of chanting old men and eunuchs weren’t exactly his idea of a good time.

“Yeah. No thanks. We’ve got work to do, right pops?” Byleth quickly took a step back, grabbing hold of his father’s blackened pauldron on the way.

“No.” Jeralt sighed, sounding defeated as he removed his son’s hand from his shoulder, “Trust me, kid. If there’s one group you don’t wanna try to run from, it’s the Knights of Serios. Lets get ready to leave.”

Byleth’s eyes shot wide. He’d never known his father to turn down a job once he had accepted it, no matter the circumstance.

“Dad, are you-”

“Don’t worry, kid!” Alois’s cheer stunned Byleth. The Knight hopped over and slapped the mercenary between the shoulder blades with a bit too much gusto, “The monastery is a wonderful place! I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay.”

Byleth snarled as he regained his balance, nearly tipping over from the sudden attack. He placed a finger over the knight’s chestplate, and without breaking his poker face, issued a direct threat to Alois.

“Listen up, you jackass. Touch me again, and I’ll chop that grubby hand right off your wrist.”

Jeralt’s jaw dropped. He could only stand and watch, Alois standing rigidly opposed to Byleth, both men staring each other down with fire in their eyes

To Jeralt’s great relief, Alois finally broke the silence by bursting into uproarious laughter.

“Ahahahaha! Good one kid!” Alois chuckled out, a hand over his busted gut, “Almost had me for a second there! Whew… I see you’ve inherited your father’s love of gallows humor.”

“Yeah. Ha-freakin’-ha.” Byleth spat dryly, “Whatever. If I’ve got no choice, I guess I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to drop my sword and become a missionary or some other crap.”

“Great!” Alois pumped his fist in the air, “Trust me, kid. You’ll love it there. I’m sure they’ll throw a feast for you and your old man when we get back! For now, though, why don’t you two head into the village, get cleaned up, and relax for a bit? It’ll be a full days march, but I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

“Yeah, yeah. There had better be some cute clerics to chat up there.”

Alois let out another round of thunderous laughter, making Byleth wish for all the world he could just pull out his dagger and surgically remove the annoying bastard’s vocal cords. Alois just gave them both another overly-vigorous pat on the shoulder and made his way back to the village, rejoining his company of knights.

“Gods. What a loud mouth.” Byleth grunted the instant Alois was out of earshot, “Have you really worked with that idiot, old man?”

“Unfortunately,” Jeralt sighed, cradling his migraine-stricken head with a single hand, “But that's beside the point. Listen up, son. If you would ever follow one damned thing I say in your life, make it this… _ do not _tangle with the Knights of Serios. If one tells you to kiss their ass, you’d damn well better get on your knees and pucker up.”

Byleth lips parted slightly. He wanted to argue, but he read the deadly seriousness on his father’s face well. It wasn’t something he saw often, even when they were facing down hoards of marauders. Instead, he just asked the other burning question on his mind.

“Knights of Serios, Knights of Serios… I’ve overheard people talking about them once or twice. They’re the church’s militia, right? What the hell is their deal anyway? And if you were one of their commanding officers once, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I haven’t told you a lot of stuff, kid.” Jeralt said, cracking the bones in his sore neck, “Partly, its for your own good. Mostly, I haven’t heard the full story myself. Just take my advice and don’t make trouble for the church.”

“Like what? Don’t pop any holy cherries? Because I might’ve already landed myself in some hot water, if they’re keeping any tabs on that.”

To Byleth’s surprise, a soft chuckle slipped pats his father's lips.

“Ahh… kid, you may have given me more than a few gray hairs, but at least I can say I’ve never had a dull moment with you around.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome, old man. Someones gotta keep you on your toes.”

* * *

Finding himself with a bit of time before having to be whisked away to this illustrious Garreg Mach, Byleth decided to find himself some breakfast. He marched to the village square, where rows and rows of tables had been swiftly and efficiently laid out. The Knights of Serios that had remained in the village were quick to enlist the aid of the locals, and together they set up a grand feast to thank the mercenary troupe for both saving the noble students and protecting the village.

“Oh, hey! Buddy! Over here!”

Byleth found the three nobles breaking bread at a square table at the far end of feast. The yellow bowman was waving him over, the blue lancer pulling up a chair for him and the woman in crimson gently patting the seat. That brought a smile to Byleth's face. He was sick of breaking bread with other men. Having a nice chat with a pretty girl over a meal was more his speed. He strode over to the svelte girl at a smooth, casual pace.

“Well, well. We meet again.” the woman in red watched him as he approached, “Oh my. You fought so hard to protect us, but I never even caught your name.”

“Byleth.” the young merc said, shoving his butt into the chair, folding two hands behind his head and folding a leg over his knee, “Mind sharing yours?”

“Edelgard von Hresvelg.” she stated clearly and proudly.

Something about the name rang a few bells in his otherwise sparsely filled head. He just ignored them, letting his lower head do most of thinking as he usually had.

“Nice to meetcha.”

“Likewise.” Edelgard returned his smile, gently laying her elbows on the table and resting her chin under one cupped hand.

Across from them, the blonde one in blue piped up, “You have my thanks as well, my friend. I’m Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. I hope we can learn more about each other soon.”

Byleth spared a passing glance towards Dimitri, wanting to tell him that he didn’t care in the slightest and he hoped he’d never have to see him again. 

“Hey, hey. You two are Laying it on a tad thick there, aren’t you? Anyway… I’m Claude von Riegan. But you can just call me Claude, buddy.”

Byleth’s smirk broke, and the rusty gears in his head ground together again. He was certain he had heard each of their names before. Certainly not in the midst of combat. More likely, during the tense lapses between battles, where more starry-eyed and naive mercenaries gossiped between each other, cursing the names of nobles dragging Fódlan’s name through the dirt, wasting so much time and money to solve such petty squabbles admits themselves.

The young merc’s attention was yanked into the opposite direction. A cute and deliciously plump village girl rolled a wooden cart up to their table, setting down all manners of delicacies for Byleth and all three of the nobles.

“Ah… you had them fetch some food for me?” Byleth inquired. Out of the corner of his eye, he was more watching the village girl’s barely restrained breasts jiggle, rather than ogling his plate of grilled herring.

“I hope you don’t mind. If you don’t like it, we can always get you something else.”

“I’m not picky. Growing up a merc, you learn to eat pretty much anything.” Byleth explained, “I wouldn’t mind a nice ale to wash this down, though.”

“Well, I can’t say its been often I’ve gone to bed hungry. You should always count your blessings where you have them.” Edelgard said, accepting her own plate. A good stack of meat and vegetables, Byleth noticed, but a noticeably larger helping of saghert and cream on the side.

“Whoa, whoa. You should watch the desserts there, princess. It’ll go straight to your thighs!” Claude laughed, accepting his own plate of pickled rabbit skewers.

“Hush up, Claude.” Edelgard commended, sounded noticeably less assumed, “Its not as if you don’t have your own share of vices.”

Byleth kept down his chuckle. He also kept in his opinion that she might’ve looked even better with a bit more meat around her thighs and waist. Dimitri just sat adjacent, silently spooning in tiny spponfuls of his onion gratin soup, trying to at least not involve himself in the squabble.

“Hey, hey. Thats enough.” Byleth butt in, “You guys are friends, right? And you all almost died together. No need to start a fight over stupid bullshit.”

Truthfully, he was more hoping to talk to Edelgard and keep Claude’s slippery tongue stuck in his big fat mouth.

“Ahh… you’re right, Byleth. Sorry, Claude. But I think I exercise enough to enjoy some sweets every now and again.”

Claude’s pearly-white smile wrapped around a chunk of his rabbit skewer. After swallowing, it just grew wider, “Relax. I was just yanking your chain.”

“Well… anyway, tell us about yourself, Byleth. You’re very skilled. How long have you been working as a mercenary?”

“My entire life, more or less.” Byleth stated bluntly, not remembering a time he wasn’t training or fighting. Even in his earliest memories, he was swinging a sword at a straw dummy.

“Ah. And the captain of your outfit was your father, correct?” Dimitri inquired, “I don’t think I caught his name either.”

“What, the old geezer? His name’s Jeralt.”

Dimitri spit out his soup. Edelgard nearly choked on her fork. Claude just sat there, eyes wide as saucers, skewer slipping from his fingers and clattering back against his plate.

“...what?” Byleth asked.

“You’re kidding me! Jeralt Reus Eisner!?” Claude exclaimed.

Edelgard slowly set her cutlery back on the table, staring Byleth down with a new intensity in her light-violet eyes, “The same Jeralt known as the Blade Breaker?”

“This… this is some kind of jest, isn’t it?” Dimitri demanded an answer, “Come now, who set this up? Was it you, Claude?”

“What the fuck are you three on about?” Byleth huffed, “Yeah, I’ve heard people call him the Blade Breaker before. I thought it was just some dumb nickname his buddies gave him… like that whole Ashen Demon thing.”

Edelgard seized him by the shoulder, “Wait, wait! You know the Ashen Demon too? So the rumor that he travels with the Blade Breaker is true? Where are they right now?”

“I’ve heard he was eight feet tall… and a cannibal.” Dimitri said, wagging his spoon in little circles.

“Also, a cross dresser.” Claude added with a playful wink.

“No, no, that isn’t right. The Ashen Demon is a woman, isn’t she?” Edelgard threw her own recycled rumor into the hat.

By that point, Byleth was totally fed up with their ridiculous rumor slinging.

“Gods, are all three of you nuts? That’s just what some idiots call me. And no, I’m not a giant cross-dressing cannibal lady.”

Claude shrugged his shoulders, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Byleth wanted to slide across the table and slam the back of his boot into Claude’s nose. He managed to control himself as to not make a scene

“Hold on one moment…” Edelgard huffed, sounding completely blown back, “If I’m not missing anything, you’re the Ashen Demon. And your father is Jeralt Eisner, the Blade Breaker. Former captain of the Knights of Serios. Oft praised as the strongest knight to have ever lived… have I missed anything?”

“Well, he hadn’t said jack about being a Knight of Serios or whatever.”

“Hmm… you’re serious, aren’t you? I’d reckon the explanation for that is interesting indeed.”

Byleth took a generous bite of his fish, nodding slowly. That was just another mystery he’d have to pick from his father’s mind.

“Yeah… I’d put good money on that too.”

* * *

**_4/24/1180_**

* * *

Fortunately for Byleth, he had grown accustomed to a full days of marching long ago. Unfortunately for him, he found the three eager lordlings clinging to his back like barnacles on a dock, having stayed with him that entire day, and the previous one. Not that he would’ve particularly minded spending a bit of alone time with Edelgard, but Claude and Dimitri were very quickly wearing his scant amount of patience thin.

Looking shortly ahead, Byleth spotted his father at the very head of their company. Jeralt was chatting up some starry-eyed knights, Alois following behind like a lost puppy.

Claude hustled up to Byleth from behind, “We’re almost there, buddy. Just you wait. Garreg Mach really is Fódlan in a nutshell. The good and the bad.”

“Interesting.” Byleth replied tersely, actually not that very interested at all.

It was Dimitri that flanked his opposite side, putting on a grin a tad more earnest than Claude’s mischievous smirk, “It’ll be your first time there, will it not? I’d be happy to show you around, Byleth.”

“Mhm.” Byleth grunted, managing to restrain himself from telling Dimitri it’d be a cold day in hell before he’d waste his time with that nonsense.

On they marched, speckled by the light of the midday sun as they moved under a long canopy of trees. The company of mercenaries and knights curled around the hilly mountainous terrain, the air growing cooler and thinner as they went. When they finally breached through the canopy, he saw it, perched among ivy-capped hills - the impossibly massive walls. The ivory towers jutting towards the sky. The wispy clouds seemed to congregate and swirl above it. It was a glimmering pearl amidst the otherwise rural and remote landscape; the setting of a fairy tale given life. Garreg Mach was all it was promised and so much more.

“Huh. Maybe it won’t be so boring here after all…” Byleth whistled beneath his breath, imagining just what kind of debauchery would occur behind those impenetrable gates when the moon took it's place in the blackened sky.

“Y'know, we’re actually dead center in the middle of Fódlan right now.” Claude let Byleth in on the little tidbit, “Neat, huh? Nice place for a monastery, if you ask me.”

Byleth thought on it a moment, realizing that from where they started marching, that was indeed the case. His father had taken him together on every step on his travels across Fódlan, and up until then, Byleth had thought he had seen every corner of the continent, if only for a brief day or two. He had never taken the church seriously, neither he or his father being particularly devout believers, which Byleth supposed was common among soldiers of fortune.

Despite being stuck in the middle of nowhere, it was far from the pathetic little settlement of crumbling huts surrounding some dusty old monastery like Byleth had imagined. Just how powerful was the church? He never fought with them, so he never considered it. Before he saw the Knights of Serios he assumed the worshipers were just old fogies and hicks prostrating themselves before some uncaring gods for a halfway decent harvest.

He supposed there was much he still didn’t know about. He made a sideways glance towards Jeralt, making a mental note to press his dad for more info later. At that moment, the old mercenary set his upon Garreg Mach with a thousand-yard stare. Byleth found something in his father’s eyes.

Nostalgia, sadness, longing, fear- Byleth couldn’t rightly tell.

Byleth stepped further up the hill, suddenly noticing something that had slipped past him as he was admiring the city. Two horse-drawn carriages were trotting up the company, looking to have come straight from Garreg Mach, heading down the trail and right towards them.

The young merc didn’t have time for any questions as to what the carriages were for. A shadow rushed overhead. By pure instinct, he gripped the hilt of his sword. Byleth felt the mild heat of the Great Tree Moon’s sun being blocked by a long, wide pair of wings for a split second. The gust tousled his hair, and he looked up to find a wyvern diving from the sky. It landed right at the head of his company with a thunderous roar. It was a beast more of raw might than grace, it’s stocky muscles rippling beneath ruddy-brown scales, hard as any armor crafted by man. Byleth’s concern that it was some wild one gone mad was quickly dashed. From it’s horns, he saw reigns tied together, and as the wyvern spread out it’s wings and squatted closer to the ground, he saw a rider.

A stern-looking man dressed in a fine navy uniform stepped off from the wyvern, swiftly tucking back any loose strands of his dark-green hair before folding his hands neatly at the small of his back. The company halted, weapons at the ready. Byleth ran up next to his father, he and the wyvern rider locking hard glares.

“Who the hell are you? The welcoming party?” Byleth interrogated the man, pulling the first few inches of his blade out of it’s sheath.

“In a sense, yes.”

Jeralt grabbed hold of Byleth’s wrist, gently easing his blade back at his side. Alois waved his arms towards Jeralt’s company, bellowing out loud enough for all of them to hear quite clearly.

“NOT TO WORRY! THIS MAN IS A FRIEND!”

Byleth hissed, his eardrums nearly being blown out by Alois’s booming cries. He drew his hands away from his weapon, covering his ears instead. The company behind him settled down as well. the wyvern rider gently stroked his mount between the horns before stepping before Byleth and his father.

“Welcome home, Jeralt. As much as I’d love to invite you back into our ranks, I believe there are a few questions I have in desperate need of answering.”

“I see that rod up your ass hasn’t budged at all, Seteth.” Jeralt almost laughed, “What? You wanna know if I’ve been eating my vegetables while I was away? Or are we just gonna skip that and have me dangling from a tree the second I make it past the gates?”

“Desertion is no subject to make a jest out of, Jeralt. We’ve all assumed you were a dead man for all these years. You’d best have a satisfactory explanation of where it is you’ve been, and why its taken a chance encounter to bring you back… if not… I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to doll out the usual punishment given to deserters.”

In the face of Seteth’s threats, Jeralt just chortled, “I’m sure I’ll think of something on the way back.” 

Seteth’s stony frown remained unchanged. He turned his head, looking to Byleth, and the young mercenary felt the wyvern rider scrutinizing every inch of his body, from his muddy boots to his unkempt mop of blue hair.

“And you… you’re Jeralt’s son, aren’t you? Alois already sent a rider up with a message of your arrival. Regardless of any issues we have with your father, I must thank both of you for protecting our most precious students.”

Byleth had no use for the thanks of some stuffy blowhard. And it hardly seemed the moment to start asking the church for cash to compensate his hard work. Instead, Byleth kept silent.

“Alright, Seteh,” Jeralt butted between his son and the wyvern rider, “I’ve lived long enough, and I’ll happily put my head on the chopping block if it means not having you hound me until I’m a geezer… but my son has nothing to do with what I’ve done a lifetime ago.”

Byleth’s fist tightened. More than he wanted to break Seteth’s nose, he wanted to clock his old man and ask him just what the hell he did that was so terrible, and why he was so readily acceptant of the executioner's blade. The father he knew never feared death, but would also never just lay down his arms and wait for it to claim him.

“I have no intention of hurting your child.” Seteth was quick to ease Jeralt’s worries, “In fact, Rhea wishes to reward him.”

“What…?” Jeralt mouthed, looking shocked.

“Rhea? Who the hell is-”

Several loud neighs broke into their conversation. Seteth’s wyvern snorted out steam, folded it’s wings close it’s body, and stomped clumsily out of the way. The two finely crafted carriages rolled up behind Seteth, each being driven by a Serios Knight.

“Any questions you have can be saved until we reach the monastery, Byleth.” Seteh informed as if it were a matter of fact, “Your father and I have much to discuss. He, Alois, and I shall ride in one of these carriages. You, Edelgard, Claude and Dimitri will take the other. The remainder of your company is to continue their march to Garreg Mach on foot. Is that understood?”

“Crystal.” Byleth grunted out, already telling he’d hate Seteth within the first three minutes of knowing him.

“Fantastic.”

Seteth offered Byleth a tiny smile that felt rather insincere. As Seteth gently urged his wyvern to return to the city without him, Byleth stormed into one of the carriages, throwing himself into one of the cushy red seats, almost impressed with how well the pillowed cushion curved around his behind. That did nothing to ease his frustration however. Being yanked about by some order of uptight and irritating knights, his father doing absolutely nothing to resist them - it was all maddening.

“I see you’ve met Seteth. Don’t worry; you won’t be seeing too much of him.”

Byleth had his eyes shut, and he cracked one halfway open to watch Edelgard climb in and sit right beside him. Claude came next, and Dimitri wasn’t far behind. The two boys sat across from Edelgard and Byleth. Not a moment later, they heard the driver crack his whip, and the carriage spun around and went trotting backwards to Garreg Mach.

Grumbling, Byleth angrily tapped his fist against the fine oaken upholstery of the carriage's interior, “Ahh… what do you nobles do for fun anyway? Cuz I’m going to jump off a cliff if the entire joint is filled with fuckers like Seteth and Alois.”

“Well… around here, you’d have plenty of cliffs to choose from.” Claude winked, “Oh, but please don’t, buddy. The world would be a duller place without you brightening it up.”

“Oh. So thats how you have fun.” Byleth uttered, “Anything else besides blow smoke people's asses?”

“Well… sometimes I also pull a prank or two. And Dimitri likes to train.”

“I can’t argue that. There’s nothing more rewarding than perfecting the martial arts!” Dimitri cheered, “If you’re ever bored, Byleth, I’d be happy to train with you… I’m sure my friends would also be grateful for a chance to spar with the Ashen Demon himself.”

“Nah.” Byleth turned him down with haste, “I’m not very good at holding back. Even if we’re using practice weapons, I usually end up hurting my partners pretty bad.”

That was the truth, but Byleth also didn’t exactly want to spend his free time beating the snot out of some royal brats when he could be spending his time more productively – like getting laid. Or getting plastered. Or both at once. Some may had called him petty and hedonistic, but he saw it as an enjoyment of the more simple things in life.

“O-oh. Well, not to worry. We have plenty of fine healers at Garreg Mach. Even if you can’t help but break every bone in my body, I’d still relish the opportunity to spar with you.”

“Sure. Whatever, pal...”

The carriage went silent for a moment, the only sounds being the crashing of hooves from outside. Byleth sat back, staring at Edelgard’s legs out of the corner of his eye. He saw her stir, and Byleth’s gaze quickly darted around and out the window, pretending to be preoccupied studying clouds.

“Byleth. Before we reach Garreg Mach… I have a confession to make.”

The mercenary felt a rush of excitement rush in veins. His thoughts went racing in turn, ‘_Gods, noble girls really are thirsty. Shit, is she already going to ask me out on a date? Man, I’ve never done it with a noble before… this gonna be fucking sweet!’ _

“I’m the Princess of the Adrestian Empire.”

The excitement drained, leaving a numb, empty feeling, and a certain dryness in his mouth. He certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“Really?”

“Its the truth, Byleth. I’m the only daughter of Emperor Ionius IX.”

“Well… to be frank… just like Edelgard, I’m next in line to the throne of my nation. I’m the Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.” Dimitri admitted, eyes toward the carriage’s floor.

Finally, Claude piped up, “Well, if we’re all spilling the beans… I’m set to take over House Reigan, the most influential seat in the Leicester Round Table. In other words… when my granddad steps down, I’ll be the new leader of the Alliance.”

Byleth sank back into his cushioned seat, chewing on the revelations imparted onto him. Somehow, in the span of a single early, hungover morning, he had managed to save the lives of all three of Fódlan’s future rulers.

He wondered just how much blood had been spilled by slimy earls and dukes to get even halfway to where he was now . Enough to dye an ocean red, he’d wager. All three owed their lives to he and his father. If he played his cards right, he could have all three eating out of his palm.

The young mercenary, however, wanted no part of that. His deep blue eyes soaked in each of the three nobles bright faces. His life wouldn’t be so simple if he got himself tangled up in their politics. And while he never had much experience picking the brains of blue-bloods, he knew enough that he doubted they’d just throw piles of coin and women at him and expect him to sit around and grow far in there castle.

“Byleth… if I may be so bold...” Edelgard began, tenderly laying her fingers across his shoulder, “I want you to work for me. The empire is in need of brave, talented individuals such as yourself.”

And there it was. She wanted to make some sort of imperial officer out of him. Byleth was almost tempted to say yes to Edelgard’s offer. But he quickly decided that any benefit the princess would toss at his feet wouldn’t be worth the ludicrous amount of work she’d bury him in.

“I’ll… think about it.” Byleth answered.

The princess laid her gloved hands back into her lap, beaming all the brighter, “I’m glad to hear it.”

“H-hey! I was going to ask him first, Edelgard!” Dimitri stuttered out, blushing, “I thought we agreed on this!”

“Forgive me, Dimitri. But you were simply taking far too long.”

Byleth couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. There was a certain something about the smug satisfaction with the way Edelgard told Dimitri off that was oddly adorable.

“Hey, hey. You’re both tactless, really. Asking him stuff like that so soon.” Claude interjected. He set his hands on his elbows, leaning forward and meeting Byleth with a slick, pearly grin, “Sorry, buddy. I was going to butter you up for a while before popping this question, but how about you come work for me instead? Trust me, I’ll give ya _ way _more vacation time then these bozos will.”

Dimitri refused to relent, leaning closer to Byleth, nearly bumping shoulders with Claude, “Well, Byleth? You’ll think about entering service for Claude and I as well, won’t you?”

Byleth propped one leg over the other, leaning further back into his cushioned seat, “Nah.”

The young prince looked as though Byleth had just sunk a dagger into his back.

“B-but... “ the prince stuttered, slack-jawed, “Why? Why are you so set on Edelgard, while you won’t even consider Claude or I?”

Edelgard kept her smug grin on. Claude’s smirk drooped just a tad, and for a brief moment, Byleth saw the happiness in Claude’s fade from his eyes. Perhaps it hadn’t even been there in the first place. What came to replace it, whether disgust or intrigue, Byleth neither knew nor cared.

“Well…” Byleth yawned, “I guess that's for you to find out, isn’t it?”

A deep, heavy rumble sounded as the gates to the holy city parted, and the carriages rode all the way through the city and up to the monastery. Byleth cracked open the window panel, watching the hustle and bustle with the same amusement a child would have while studying a colony of ants.

None of the four saw it, but far above the city, a woman with eyes of jade waited for them. She stood out on the balcony of the highest tower in all the monastery. She watched the carriages approaching the monastery with glistening green eyes. To her, they appeared as nothing but tiny specks amidst the bustle of the streets. Even still, the sight brought the woman a radiant bliss.

“I wonder… was it the flow of time that brought you here… or the will of fate?"


	3. Three Houses

Byleth watched his father shift his weight from one foot to the other, swaying subtly on his heels, clearly uncomfortable within the room. If Jeralt hadn’t already proved himself of having an abundance of grit time and time again, Byleth might’ve even suspected his old man would break away and bolt out of the monastery as quickly as his feet would carry him.

“I can’t believe I’m back here after all this time...” Jeralt mumbled, looking across the room. He stared at the marble busts, the single stained-glass window between them and freedom, the tiled floor below trapping them in a kaleidoscope of brilliant color, unfit for such dull and brutal men.

The young mercenary actually felt more out of place than his father and he refused to show it. He could swiftly form a list of a thousand other places he’d rather be, but it’s where Seteh directed him only a few hours after he had arrived at the monastery, so its where he found himself.

“Who did that wyvern jockey say we’re meeting? Lady Rhea?”

Jeralt stares his son dead on the eye, “Byleth… listen to me. Rhea is the archbishop, and the leader of the entire Serios faith. I know I never exposed you much to the church, and believe me, it’s influence spreads across all of Fódlan. It’s no exaggeration to say she’s the most powerful woman on the continent.”

“Okay. I hear you. I'll mind my manners.” Byleth eased his father, “But is she single…?”

“For once in your life… keep it in your pants, son.”

Byleth hummed lowly, eyes refocusing to the stained-glass window before them. The father and son stewed together in the tense silence. Byleth’s fingers clenched against his palm - he was starting to grow impatient, even if his blank expression didn’t show it. 

Just a few minutes felt like nearly an hour. Just as Byleth was about to throw his arms into the air and storm away, he heard an oaken door creaking open. Both he and his father looked to the left, and between two marble pillars, they saw two figures emerging from the next room over.

“Bow, kid. On your knee.” Jeralt hissed, “Show some respect.”

Byleth wasn’t the biggest fan of groveling. He swallowed his pride and dropped into a kneeling position regardless, hand folded across his heart and eyes towards his faint reflection on the floor. Remaining calm and cool-headed, he listened to the two sets of footfalls nearing them. One of them was rather heavy. Boots slamming down harder than what was needed, an exaggerated gap between each step. A man who wanted to flex his authority over he and his father.

The other, light. Barely audible. It was like she was gliding across the polished marble. Byleth saw two dainty feet in decorative sandals, barely peeking out from under a long white dress. He redirected his eyes back down, trying not to budge. 

The Ashen Demon, famed for his ability to slaughter enemies without flinching, felt his breath catch in his throat. Something immediately sent alarm bells ringing incessantly in his head the second she stepped in his presence. However, it wasn’t fear.

“Raise your head, Jeralt. We’ve no need for such formalities - and that goes for you as well, Byleth. In my eyes, you are both family to me.”

Byleth felt goosebumps spreading across his skin. Her voice was like serenity,the dulcet tones of an angel whispering into his ear. He whipped his head up and stood perhaps a bit too quickly, eager to get a look at this Rhea.

Gorgeous, was the only way Byleth could describe her. The marvelous way she carried herself, the soft warmth he felt as she beamed at him, the way her silky emerald hair fell upon her shoulders… and strangely, past all that, Byleth felt no lust as he stared upon her. She was too perfect; a goddess given flesh. One that he wasn’t worthy to set his filthy hands upon. His eyes lowered, watching the way her thin silken robes clung to the wide berth of her hips. Then, all that lust came bubbling up, and Byleth struggled not to fill his head with any lewd thoughts of grabbing hold of those hips and pounding away.

“It’s so very good to have you back, Jeralt.” Rhea said with a voice as clear as water and soft as a cloud, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Byleth.”

“You… you as well, Lady Rhea.” Byleth just managed to catch himself before he stuttered - which was quite odd, as he felt calm, and even in his most dire of moments, he had never found himself tongue-tied. Especially not in front of a woman.

That seraphic aura she exuded made Byleth want to slink back onto his knees. He was never religious, yet standing in her presence made him feel as close to heaven as when he was sunken in throngs of ecstasy. 

“Jeralt…” Rhea cooed, turning to the older man, her golden decorations jangling lightly as she did, “May Seteth and I have a moment alone with your son? We wish to discuss matters with Byleth.”

Usually, Byleth displayed little emotion beyond a satisfied smirk or an annoyed frown. Jeralt looked over to his son, finding neither on his face. If he was nervous or excited, he wasn’t showing any of it. Jeralt stood,and the father and son’s gazes met. It was for just a split second, but Byleth read the old man’s deadly seriousness all too well. 

At once, all his father’s warnings about the church came flooding back to the forefront of Byleth’s mind. Jeralt said nothing. He just bowed to Lady Rhea, bid her and Seteh farwell, and left the meeting room. When Byleth heard the door creak open and ease back shut again, he felt a rare moment of true apprehension.

“So… is this about my reward?” Byleth quickly breathed out, staring right at Rhea and Seteth, not allowing a tense silence to fester.

“Byleth… how would you like to become a professor here?”

With his nerves stretched as thinly as they would go, the ridiculous question snapped the tension and made Byleth reel. Suddenly, the woman didn’t seem so godly, and he let his thoughts fly out unbidden by her astronomically higher social status.

“Fuck no. Why the hell would I want to babysit a bunch of spoiled rich kids?”

Seteth’s nostrils flared. He may not have enjoyed the idea of such an upstart stranger taking the reigns of a class, yet the idea of the bull-headed brat refusing a direct request from Lady Rhea was something he couldn’t and wouldn’t stand for. And beyond that, he wanted to slice out the youth’s foul tongue for spewing such profanities before the archbishop. 

“Watch your mouth, Byleth. And if Lady Rhea asks something of you, you _ will _ do as she says. Is that understood?”

“Not really, no.” Byleth grumbled indignantly, "Just what the hell has she ever done for me?"

The green-haired man began leaning aggressively forward, fists clenched tightly, “You arrogant little- am I going to have to teach you a lesson?”

"Try me. I'm a quick leaner." Byleth spat wickedly, hopping that the idiotic crony would challenge him to a duel. He'd be more than happy to humiliate the fool in front of his precious archbishop. To hell what his father warnings of the knights - Byleth would sooner be strapped to a breaking wheel than have to put up with ant more of Seteth's incessant nagging.

“Seteth, Byleth... calm yourselves. That's quite enough.” Rhea finally spoke up, undaunted by the both of them, “If he doesn’t wish to become a professor here, that's perfectly fine. If he has neither the desire nor skill to teach, we’ve no place to force the role onto him.”

“Of course, Lady Rhea. We have plenty of other candidates to replace the coward that abandoned our students.” Seteth settled back into his rigid, dignified posture, “That is quite understandable, Byleth. Does enrolling as a student sound more appealing to you?”

“And just why the hell would I want to be a student here?”

“You want to stay with your father, don’t you?” Rhea began, “Jeralt had already agreed to it with Seteth on your way here; he shall be rejoining the Knights of Serios.”

In a rare moment of genuine shock, Byleth’s eyes shot wide. That seemed like absolute madness, considering how on edge and cautious his father seemed to be regarding the church. And he must have had reason to go awol in the first place, even if Byleth couldn’t name what exactly that reason was. 

Byleth knew that must’ve been the truth. Such a lie would be pointless to invent if he could simply walk out of the room and ask his dad for himself. Why would his father rejoin them? Was he trying to get closer to sabotage the church or assassinate someone? Was he being blackmailed? Had the old man’s brain finally started to rot from age? Byleth couldn’t possibly know, and he doubted his father would give him a straight answer.

“I won’t accept some layabout at Garreg Mach. As long as you stay here, you’ll remain active – as a student, or a servant. Your choice.” Seteth made his ultimatum.

“Urgh… a servant? Like cleaning up the shitters? Can’t I just be a guard or something? I’ve already proved I can fight, can’t I?”

“We’ve already an abundance of youths signing up for our city guard and militia. Aside from that, your vast talents would be wasted as a mere gatekeeper. If you wish to join the Knights, however… you must become a student and graduate from our academy first.”

“Butter me up all you want, wyvern jockey.” Byleth growled, “It won’t work.”

“Don’t be an obsitant fool. Becoming a student at the Officer’s Academy is an opportunity most could only dream of. Even if you decide to return to mercenary work when you leave, I guarantee it shall prove to be an invaluable experience.”

“Y’know, I’m not attached to my old man by the hip. If he wants to stay here and becoming a knight so badly, I’ll just go out and work solo from now on. Hell, I’ve already been thinking about doing it.”

“Fine then. Talk to Lady Rhea. If she permits you an exit… I suppose I cannot stop you. In fact, based on all that attitude you’ve shown me so far, I’d happily hold the door open for you.”

Rhea’s radiant smile dropped a bit. She still seemed delighted to be in Byleth’s presence nonetheless, “Well… if you wish to leave, I can’t stop you, Byleth. But I’d be truly saddened to watch you go.”

The mercenary wanted to tell both of them off. He wanted to spew a few profanities, storm into town, enjoy the night life for a bit, then go join some other mercenary company, live life simply as he always had. There was just the matter of his father.

‘_ Damn you, old man... you really had to join back up with these nutjobs, didn’t you? I’d be pretty pissed if I ever heard your head ended up stuck on some pike outside these gates...’ _

“Well? Are you interested?” Seteth broke him from his thoughts.

“Urge… yeah. Sorry.” Byleth apologized, truly not feeling even an ounce of repentance in his body, “Fine. You win. I’ll become a student. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow, after you decide which house you want to join.” Seteth told him.

“A house?” asked a puzzled Byleth.

Rhea was happy to explain, “Garreg Mach’s Officer’s Academy was built to ensure excellence in the future leaders of Fodlan. As such, most of our students are a mix from all around the continent… however, for our most promising students, we’ve set apart three separate houses for the youths who will champion their respective nations. Traditionally, barring exceptional circumstances, there are only eight students assigned to each house. Count yourself lucky, Byleth. In our academy’s long history, you’re one of those few exceptions.”

The mercenary no longer knew what to think. Keeping his poker face on, he just nodded absent-mindedly. In just a short day and a half, he had found himself enrolled into an illustrious academy. His old life, and everything he had ever known, had been ground into dust and thrown to the wind.

With no more words needing to be said, Byleth just turned his back and left the room.

* * *

Byleth was felt nothing except gratitude after he left that meeting hall. He couldn’t find the old man and give him a piece of his mind, so Byleth just aimlessly wandered about the monastery until he collapsed onto a bench, his mind addled and coming to terms with just what he had gotten himself into.

“Fuck…” the mercenary hissed through clenched teeth, “A student? Here? What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I still here? Just to babysit that crazy old bastard? Gah...” 

He looked back up, finding that he wandered into the courtyard without realizing it. He heard students chatting and walking by from beyond the neatly trimmed hedges, and it was only in his immediate line of sight he saw three cute girls sharing tea and cookies with each other. He watched them giggle and gossip, sipping tea and throwing crumbs to the plump owls milling around the pagoda where they sat.

Byleth took a deep breath, calming his nerves, taking in the crisp mountain air. He leaned backward, the cool wood of the bench feeling surprising relaxing as he steadied himself. He had never tasted the life of academia. He supposed, with enough mind-addling booze, that school life might not have been so terrible.

“Oh, Byleth! I’ve been looking for you.”

When the Ashen Demon heard Edelgard’s voice, he perked right up. She emerged from a flood of students passing by the nearest entrance to the courtyard, striding over to him with the usual poise and confidence that she put into her every step.

She wasn’t alone. A tall, ghoulish man walked behind Edelgard. Byleth immediately wanted to stuff a whole clove of garlic down his throat, stake his heart, dunk him in holy water, and toss him out to dry in the sunlight. While one of his amber eyes was hidden behind a wave of his inky-black hair, Byleth felt the other scrutinizing him down to the fibers of his bones. 

“Hey, Edelgard. That a zombie behind you? When did you start taking up necromancy?”

The pale man leered, seeming to take Byleth’s jab in perfect stride, “Rest assured, I’m perfectly alive. My name Hubert von Vestra. Lady Edelgard has told me all about you, Ashen Demon… I must thank you for protecting her in my absence.”

“Oh. You her retainer or something?” Byleth asked, already having an inkling that Hubert might present a bit of a roadblock on his way under Edelgard’s sheets.

“Indeed.” Hubert confirmed, rubbing his chin with one of his gloved hands, “So, Ashen Demon… one of our faculty members let it slip that your father has rejoined the knights, and you yourself are enrolling as a student in one of the houses."

“Guess I am.” Byleth mumbled, still mentally kicking himself for making such a rash and brain-dead decision… though, he supposed it’d never be too late to simply duck out and pick up work back in the empire.

“Have you meet with Claude and Dimitri’s classes? Of course, as all three of us are inheriting our respective nations, we’ll be serving as house leaders this semester. Dimitri leads the Blue Lions, and Claude represents the Golden Deer. As for me, I’m going to be heading the Black Eagles.”

“Interesting.” Byleth said, his focus back on imagining the princess’s tight body underneath her uniform, “Well… suppose I have my choice cut out for me, don’t I? I already said I’d work for you, if anybody.”

“You never signed any contract. I’d be delighted to have you, but you’re free to make your own choice.” Edelgard told him plainly, completely subverting Byleth’s expectations of a pushy, entitled noble girl.

"Are you certain about joining us, Byleth?" Hubert asked him, "I doubt Seteth would allow you to easily transfer to another class if your attitude changes. Beyond that, I'm quite thrilled to see you so... _eager _to aid us on our mission to restore the empire to it's former glory."

“Well, Edelgard did promise me an award. I’m gonna make sure to collect on that.” Byleth said, trying his damnedest to stop the perverted half-smile slithering across his face. Edelgard and Hubert just grinned back at him, unaware of his lustful ulterior motives.

Perhaps, Byleth thought, the next year would turn out to be fun after all.

* * *

Seteth just returned from his lunchbreak, settling down into his favorite chair. Looming above him was a mountain of paperwork on his desk. Staring it down with his usual frosty seriousness, he grasped his ink pen and prepared to tear through it by the end of the afternoon.

A sudden jolt sent his desk rattling, nearly knocking every paper in his nest pile toppling over. Pushing it back before it collapsed, Seteth craned his neck around to watch Byleth stroll into his office completely uninvited, having already nearly kicked the door from its hinges.

“Knock next time, you barbarian!”

“Lock the door next time.” Byleth shot back, grabbing a chair from a small coffee table in the corner, moving it before Seteth's desk, and throwing himself into the seat.

“You’re simply incorrigible…” Seteth groaned, “Do you have any questions about the houses? If so, hurry up and ask them. I’m a busy man, Byleth, and I loath having to repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last bit?” Byleth asked as he cleaned a bit of gunk out of his ear with his little finger.

“I said I loath having to repeat mys-” Seteth caught himself before the last syllable, blushing madly, “ You know what? I’m not going to debase myself by playing these ridiculous games with you. Now get out of my office, and don’t come back until you’ve decided which house you want to join.”

“Black Eagle House.”

Seteth’s brow scrunched up, “Don’t be foolish, you’ve met only the house leaders, and that was just a day prior. Go out, meet everyone in each house, and take this matter into serious considerat-”

“Nope. Black Eagles.” Byleth hushed the red-faced Seteth.

“Fine, fine… you know what? You win. I can’t even begin to fathom what sort of nonsense rattles around in that thick skull of yours, yet I suppose your choice is your own… just don’t come whining to me for a transfer if you don’t end up enjoying the company of your housemates.”

It hit Byleth that perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible idea to check out the other classes. For all he knew, the Black Eagles could’ve been Edelgard and nothing but ugly knuckle draggers, while the Golden Deer could’ve been nothing except Claude with a pack of cute, needy girls. Byleth quickly rationalized that scenario as highly unlikely. Moreover, he’d sooner roast in hell before he’d take Seteth’s advice and listen to the smug bastard’s tongue lashing.

“I’ll think I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Seteth finally relented, “Fortunately, you’ve missed nothing but the orientation, and I’m sure your house leader will catch you up on that. Classes begin tomorrow morning… make sure to get plenty of sleep tonight.”

“Yep. Sure. Whatever you say.” Byleth said, already on his way out, “Later.”

As Seteh watched Byleth depart his office, a single thought ruminated within him.

“What a vile little creature...”

* * *

The sun was sinking past the gated walls by the time Byleth had finished setting up his room. He was assigned at the very end of the dorm’s first floor, and didn’t bother learning whoever his neighbor was. He simply kicked off his boots, rid himself of his overcoat, and dismantled his light armor, letting everything fall to the floor before he collapsed into bed. He was proud of his stamina, but he hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in close to three days. He figured he’d have plenty of other opportunities to go gallivanting around the dead of night to see just what pleasures the city had to offer.

His efforts to find his father had proved fruitless, and he was so annoyed he swore he’d lay the old man out the moment he found him. At the moment Byleth was too tired to be angry. Stripping out of his trousers, Byleth hopped into his bed, staring up at a few cracks in the ceiling the moment his head touched the pillow. He took a deep breath, eyes dropping shut, blocking out the soft orange rays filtering into his room. Not even bothering to pull the sheets over his body, Byleth fell into a deep slumber. While a part of him dreamed of his upcoming adventures of conquest of the schoolyard, another part of him hoped that the monastery was just some strange nightmare, and he’d awake back at the Remire Inn, barmaid at his side, leading his life simply and freely as he always had.

The Ashen Demon took a long draw for breath. He opened his eyes and found himself trapped on a familiar room. That same cold, dark room. The same one he found himself standing in after witnessing some brutal, ancient battle. And the same impish girl was still slumbering on the throne in front of him, snoozing away without a care in the world.

He sucked in another breath, looking down to his palm and flexing his fingers. It certainly didn’t feel like any other dream he had experienced. He was fully cognizant. He could feel the slight chill of the room nip at his skin. He could taste the stale air; hear the steady rhythm of his pumping lungs.

“Aaaah… well, well. Back again, I see.” 

With a cute yawn, the girl stirred awake, propping one arm on her throne to cradle her cheek as she studied Byleth.

“Who… who are you?” Byleth asked the impish girl, taking note once again of her peculiar dress and elven ears.

“I…” she began, lips parting, yet not forming any name, “...I… don’t know. You were… Byleth, wasn’t it? Pray forgive me… oh, humans names never sit easily with me. They’re just so strange!”

“Human names? So you’re really not a human are you? And you’ve gotta call yourself _ something _. Don’t tell me you forgot your damned name.”

Something angered the strange spirit. She floated up from her throne, hands angrily pressed into her hips, pouting down at Byleth, “You… do you think me some child?! Some mere child who forgot her own name?! Phooey! And those lewd remarks about my endowment when we last met… I’ll have you know you’re a mere infant compared to me!”

Byleth bit his lip. She was unarguably as flat as a washing board. But no child could possibly possess hips as wide as hers, nor have the nerve to dress herself so provocatively. And she clearly wasn’t a human. 

“Okay, okay. You’re a woman. Wanna prove it to me?”

“Disgusting. Simply incorrigible. As if I’d lay with some unruly, womanizing brat like yourself.” 

“Alright. Yeesh.” Byleth huffed, “Seriously… just what are you, and why am I seeing you in my dreams? Am I being possessed by the spirit of some imp queen or something?”

The girl’s milky cheeks flushed red. She refused to suffer the indignity, “An imp?! Hold your slanderous tongue, child! For I am Sothis! And you shan’t-”

She caught herself, falling back into her throne, grabbing at her mouth. She seemed to be in a great deal of shock, her flat chest rising and falling at a noticeably faster rate.

“Sothis, huh?”

“Yes… that is my name… and yet… I couldn’t remember it until just now. There's much I don’t remember… countless memories shrouded in mist, just on the cusp of entering my mind's eye… the further I reach out to grasp them, to glimpse my past... the fainter they grow…”

“Well, I wouldn’t blow my lid over it. Even if you are some sort of ghost or something.” Byleth soothed her, confidently jamming a thumb at his chest, “I’ll help you work everything out, since we’re stuck together.”

“More like because you’re a supreme lecher…” Sothis yawned, unable to keep up her annoyance. She leaned back into her throne, cradling on cheek in her hand, “Ahh… I just awoke, and… ah... I’m so weary…”

The exact moment when Sothis’s eyelids dropped, every last sliver of energy vanished from Byleth’s body. His head span, and he nearly toppled over, managing to roughly land on a single knee. The pain shot up his leg, despite being within an apparent dreamscape. Even with that rush of adrenaline, the lethargy still weighed on him, his eyelids feeling like chunks of lead. Unable to keep them up, they fell back down, and he found himself falling back into a deep sleep.

Whatever sort of future awaited him in the waking world, he'd it find soon.


	4. The Black Eagles

* * *

_ **4/25/1180** _

* * *

The booming yet infuriatingly chipper chime of the monastery bell acted as a revelry. Byleth groaned and rolled over in his bed, gripping either end of his pillow, bending it and attempting to encase his skull in a fluffy barrier. Anything to block out the sound.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, fool? You can’t sleep through your first day of class! If you don’t get a move on, you’ll land yourself in even deeper trouble with Seteth! Come now, wipe the sleep from your eyes! It’s a bright new day!”

Byleth snorted, the shock bringing him out of his dozing state. He knew the voice. A squeaky brat’s voice carrying the tone and vocabulary of a decaying granny. Byleth peaked past his pillow, past a stray tangle of azure hair, and spotted the little sprite Sothis floating in the corner of his room. She reclined in the empty air just like she had in her throne, lazily kicking out her slender legs, glaring right at him.

“Oh. I’m dreaming.” Byleth figured, yawning before turning his back to her, “This monastery nonsense, dad being some knight captain… it was all some crazy dream… aah… wish I could’ve done it with Edelgard though...”

“You’re certainly not dreaming! Now get out of bed and-”

“Shuddup.” Byleth demanded. He shifted the use of his pillow from a shield to a projectile, hurling it at Sothis. To both of their surprises, it passed right through her body, hitting the wall behind her and plopping right onto his desk.

“Oh! Quite curious indeed. It seems I can’t interact with anything within this world…” Sothis bemused, sticking her intangible arm straight through the desk.

“What? So you _ are _ a ghost?” 

“Nonsense!” Sothis huffed, floating right into the light streaming in from his window, “I wouldn’t be able to stay out during anytime but the dead of night if I was some sort of specter.”

The mercenary wanted to ask her just how much she knew of the occult, to be able to shoot down that solid theory with such flimsy evidence and with such confidence. He decided not to, figuring that he'd crack those mysteries whenever he felt up for it.

“I take it you’re not going to stop bothering me until I get to class.” 

“Education is important… and I’d wager you could stand to socialize without philandering for once.”

Byleth said nothing. He rolled out of bed. He pulled up his pants and fastened his belt, and he paid no mind as Sothis reclined in the air and quite literally orbited him as he slipped his socks over his feet.

Sothis pouted as Byleth completely ignored her. She floated to the other side of the room, hovering in the corner, shooting him a disapproving look all the while.

“So… you can appear when I’m awake now, huh?”

“For… a bit…” she yawned, “While I’m awake as well… but… ahh... not sure… if others…”

Sothis dozed off mid sentence, and Byleth watched with intrigue as the girl faded into golden dust. The shimmering glitter whirled about like a tornado, flying towards Byleth as he was in the middle of slipping his overcoat back over his shoulders. Eyes wide, Byleth ducked back and defensively raised his arms. The dust slipped right past his guard, hitting his chest before vanishing back into the aether.

Byleth breathed out in relief, patting his chest. The strange girl Sothis and her appearances couldn’t have been happening at a more inopportune time. Pushing his frustration aside, he finished getting dressed and decided until things calmed down, his full attention would go to dealing with school.

More specifically, the schoolgirls.

* * *

“Well met, friend! I am Ferdinand von-”

“Don’t care.”

Byleth pushed past the tall boy with neat orange hair. The young noble had been obnoxiously blocking the way into the Black Eagle’s classroom with his puffed-out, cravat-clad chest, and Byleth wasn’t interested in fraternizing with the sons of stuffy blue blooded blowhards. Princesses and daughters of dukes were more his speed.

The classroom was small, five students already within it's walls, but Byleth hazarded it could fit around eighteen before getting cramped. Crimson banners depicting an ebon eagle were hung up at all sides, showing the usual zeal of Adrestian nationalism. Almost immediately, Byleth found himself further blockaded by another pair of boys. They were nearly polar opposites in every regard. There was a short and lean bursting with vigor, the other a tall, lanky boy that looked ready to collapse to the ground and hibernate at a moment’s notice. 

“Oh, hey, new guy! I’m Caspar, and this sleepy fella here is Linhardt! I hope we can-”

Byleth pushed past both before either had a chance to further flap their gums.

Near the front of the class, he found them. Two gorgeous young maidens, ripe and ready for a good fucking. One was a knock-out by all definitions - wavy chestnut hair, a cute face, all the right curves in all the right places, and a sizable chest. Her demeanor and more humble dress implied she didn’t come from an extravagant background like her classmates, but that was perfectly fine with Byleth.

Her friend was far more exotic. Her caramel skin and the tribal tattoo beneath her right eye suggested she came from a land outside of Fódlan’s borders; wherever hailed from, Byleth found his gaze lingering on her behind for a few long seconds. It looked absolutely amazing, a perfect blend of toned muscle and plump fat. He couldn’t wait to have a feel for himself.

“Hey there. Name’s Byleth.” 

“Dorothea.” the busty girl with a cap introduced herself, waving up at him.

“And I am Petra. Very pleasing to meet you.” the foreign girl introduced herself, Byleth taking note that her vocabulary was just a tad rough around the edges.

Then Byleth heard a small, pitiful whine below. He peered under the table and found a sixth Black Eagle hidden away, a book held protectively over her messy lavender hair. 

“Oh. Why are you hiding down here, cutie?” Byleth asked, aiming a slick smirk her way.

The girl let out a pathetic mousy squeak, further hiding behind the textbook. In her shaky voice, she quietly begged, “P-please… go away…”

“Aah… sorry about that.” Dorothea apologized on behalf of the skittish girl, “Bern is real shy. You probably shouldn’t hit on her.”

“Me? A flirt? Was I coming on a bit strong there?” 

“Just a teeny bit.” Dorothea winked at him, “But you’re easy on the eyes, so I’ll let it slide just this once.”

Byleth would’ve pushed his luck and tried to chat up Dorothea a bit more, but like a silent phantom, Hubert slipped behind him, moving him to the side and squatting under the desk. His yellow eyes cut right into Bernedetta, still rooted underneath.

“Bernadetta.” he hissed, “Get out from under there this instant. You’re representing Lady Edelgard. I expect you to start properly reflecting that.”

When the girl remained silent, shivering in place, Hubert let out an annoyed hiss. Taking advantage of his devilishly long arms, he reached out to drag her back into the light. Seeing his thin, gloved fingers move towards her, Bernedetta screeched and scrambled out from under the table. She grabbed desperate hold of the first thing she could get her fingers around - which, unfortunately for her, happened to be the legs of the Ashen Demon. Chuckling, he scooped her up into his arms, shooting the unamused Hubert a defiant glare.

“Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll protect you from mister tall, dark and gruesome over there.” 

Byleth looked down to the girl, expecting to find her swooning - but the fear had parlyzed her, sending her into a catatonic state, her skin flushed of what little color it previously had. 

“Marvelous. You’ve startled her so badly, you’ve killed her. Cardiac arrest, by the looks of it.” Hubert grumbled, shaking his head to both sides.

“She’s not dead, Hubert. Don’t be ridiculous.”

As he was checking on Bernie, Byleth watched Edelgard saunter around Hubert from the corner of his eye. She gently but firmly took the lavender-haired girl from his arms, and gingerly set her on the table before a concerned Petra and Dorothea.

“Bernadetta! Now is not the correct time for an episode!” Petra begged, shaking her shoulders. Dorothea hovered her hand above Bernie’s face, fiercely snapping her fingers. The combined efforts snapped Bernie back awake.

Gasping, she sat up, staring wearily at Byleth and Hubert, like they were a duo comprised of a hungry wolf and a pale cobra.

“I-I…” Bernie stuttered, gaze shifting down to her thighs, “Please… please don’t touch me…”

“Don’t you worry, Berndetta. No one is allowed to lay a finger on you again… is that understood?” Edelgard declared, turning to face Byleth and Hubert in particular. Byleth shiftily averted his focus in the other direction. Hubert solemnly bowed, one hand folded over his chest.

“Alright, class. Settle down, take your seats.”

A towering, broad-chested man strolled into the class. Thinking he was seeing things, Byleth rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When his wrist came down, he saw the man’s face was indeed hidden beneath an opera mask. A rather odd fashion statement. His clothing was elegant yet simple; and Byleth couldn’t rightly tell his age thanks to his mask. something about the confident-yet-subtle way he carried himself told Byleth the man was well seasoned in war.

“Jeritza! You’re gonna be our professor?” Caspar seemed awed,

“Against my better judgement.” the man grumbled, taking his place at the head of the classroom. 

He slowly scanned the room as he reached for some chalk and went pacing towards the nearby blackboard, “For those who don’t know… you may call me Jeritza. I am Garreg Mach’s head combat instructor, and your new professor.”

Byleth remained unflinching as a cold, piercing glare shot from Jeritza’s mask and cut into his chest. Silently, the combat instructor raised a single finger and waved it towards Byleth.

“Uh… do I have something on my face?”

“You. You’re the Ashen Demon, aren’t you? Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Never got one.” Byleth explained shortly. That wasn’t a lie. Not that he would bother wearing the stuffy thing once it was finally sorted out and tailored for him, though.

The masked professor hummed, the short breath sounding laced with doubt. It seemed he didn’t care too terribly about it, so he simply motioned Byleth back to the rest of the class. With all of them seated, Jeritza took a final sweeping look towards his new students.

“Right. Now, to begin today’s lesson-”

Caspar burst from out of his chair, hand in the air and blurting out before he was even given the go to ask his question, “Wait, wait! I never got the chance to ask you. What’s up with that mask, professor?”

“Caspar, that was rather tactless, wasn’t it?” Ferdinand interjected , “I’m certain he has a good reason for it.”

“Honestly. No manners at all.” Linhardt yawned, before promptly laying his head on the desk and dozing off.

“Ferdinand is correct. My reasons are my own.” Jeritza explained, returning his focus to the chalkboard, “Now, silence. Today, we’ll be going over your lessons plans for next month, as well as what to expect during the upcoming mock battle…”

Byleth wasn’t able to focus on Jeritza for a full minute before he started tuning him out. And Byleth supposed it would be dishonest to entirely pin his lapse in focus on the dull, flaccid voice in which Jeritza delivered his lecture. Starting to grow bored, Byleth looked about the classroom from his spot alone near the back, studying his fellow Black Eagles. To his left, on the other side of the aisle, he saw that Linhardt was still sleeping, and Caspar was doodling up a crude drawing of himself sinking a hefty ax into the skull of a towering monster. Uninterested, he looked ahead of them, over to Dorothea and Petra dutifully taking notes.

A good number of hours passed, lulling Byleth into a vegetive state, and the blankness on his face was matched only by the unblemished white of the open notebook in front of him. He was only roused when the massive monastery bell sung it’s chipper chime, freezing Jeritza’s worn chalk in place.

“It’s time for lunch.” Jeritza stated flatly, “You all have an hour and a half. Don’t be late on your return.”

Byleth felt sweet relief course throughout his entire being. At the very least, they were generous with their lunch breaks. 

Sweet relief filled Byleth from head to toe. He was free. And he was the first one to burst from the cage, flying from the classroom and standing out in the sun outside, basking in the warmth it brought.

“Excuse me, Byleth. May I have a word with you?”

Byleth blinked, looking over to Edelgard. The rest of the houses were already spilling out from their classrooms, and the princess approached him with a kindly smile, Hubert fortunately nowhere in sight.

“Ah… sure thing, Edelgard.”

They went just around the corner of their classroom, a quiet area with no current traffic. Byleth lent up against the wall, and the princess had to tilt her chin up to meet the mercenary eye to eye.

“I just wanted to say… thank you for choosing me over Dimitri and Claude. I truly appreciate your support. But… its just been eating at me… why’d you choose the Black Eagles so readily?”

Byleth felt his lips go dry. This was the moment of truth. Having seduced countless village girls during post-battle revelry, the merc confidently puffed out his chest and utilized his tried and true method of bold, blunt honesty.

“Cause I’ve always wanted to do it with a noble girl. C’mon. Lets fuck.”

Edelgard stayed quiet. Her face remained calm, unflinching. Slowly, her lips parted, making way for an irritated sigh.

“Ah… I didn’t want to believe it, but I developed a small suspicion with the way you were ogling me. Claude even tried to warn me… you’re a pervert, aren’t you? Honestly…”

Byleth dumbly opened his mouth again, “So, is that a yes or-”

Edelgard’s hand darted out as fast as lightning. Byleth flinched as he saw it coming, having already taking his fair share of slaps from appalled woman. Instead of her open palm, her knuckles met his mouth, and Byleth stumbled back with a lip busted wide open. The young merc found himself shocked by her titanic strength, not being able to imagine it coming from the arms of the tiny princess. He’d been smacked by foes twice her size and still could walk away with a smile.

“Ah! A no would’ve been just fucking fine.” Byleth whined, pulling his gloved hand away from his mouth and finding a concerning amount of red staining his fingers.

“If you’re looking for some whore to lay, go find one in town, you pig.”

“Argh… that really fuckin’ hurt…” 

Another sigh escaped Edelgard, and her face went softer, “I’m sorry… that was an overreaction on my part. You’ve always been around war and death; grew up with men who lived unrestrained, treated each moment as their last. Of course you’d lack social graces with an upbringing like that. Just promise me you’ll try to learn how to behave, alright?”

“Well… I guess I’m gonna hafta work on my approach…” Byleth groaned as he popped his sore jaw.

“If you’d like, you can strike me back.” the princess generously offered, turning her unguarded cheek towards him.

Byleth cocked his brows, “You’re just going to let me smack you?”

Edelgard nodded curtly, “Yes. I told you, I overreacted. Please, if you feel bitter over it, go ahead and makes things even.”

“Alright...” Byleth agreed, slowly taking hold of her chin and tilting it left, until her right cheek was fully presented to him, “Get ready… here it comes.”

Edelgard hummed in acknowledgement. She clenched her eyes shut, bracing for impact. But it wasn’t a fist she felt connecting with her cheek. It was something soft and warm. Edelgard’s eyes sprung upon, just in time to see Byleth pull his lips away from her supple skin.

“You…!” the princess gasped, her fair complexion flushing a red a whole shade deeper than her uniform, “I didn’t say you could… you dastard!”

“There. We’re even.” Byleth smiled.

Edelgard’s fist collided with the top of his head, planting him into the ground. 

“Like I said; learn to behave. And I want you back at class on time, Byleth. Goodbye.”

She angrily paced away, and Byleth rubbed the growing bump underneath his deep blue hair as he forced himself back to his feet. As he caught his bearings and the stars stopped flashing before his eyes, he knocked the dirt and grass off his tunic.

“Yeesh… she sure packs a helluva punch…” Byleth muttered. The young merc turned towards the dining hall, ready dash and grab a quick meal, but someone had other plans for him. Out from behind a nearby tree, the lanky, pale figure of Hubert crept into Byleth’s pat. Immediately, Byleth could tell the grim man wasn’t happy.

“I’ve killed many men for saying and doing less than that to Lady Edelgard, you know. _ Far _less.”

“Oooh. I’m shaking in my boots. What did they ask her for? To go out and share a sherbet or something? Seriously, all I did was ask her if she wanted to fuck. Sorry if that offended your noble sensibilities, but it’s something humans have been doing since we bashed each other's heads in with rocks instead of iron."

That answer didn’t please Hubert. His leer fell into a vicious scowl, “Believe me, you vile swine. The only reason blood still courses through your veins is because Lady Edelgard was willing to forgive your transgressions… and she still has a use for your strength. But try to cross a line with her again? Even _ think _about soiling her? I won’t even wait for the order before putting you in the ground.”

“Soiling her?” Byleth smiled, ignoring the pain in his lip, “Ah. So she’s a virgin? Those are the most fun in my book.”

Byleth knew immediately he struck a nerve - bu Hubert's ghastly frown curled into thin, venomous smile.

“You know what? Forget all those warnings I just gave you.” Hubert snarled out, “The second Lady Edelgard no longer has a use for you, you’re a dead man.”

“We’ll see about that, slim. We’ll see.” Byleth challenged, undaunted by Hubert's threats.

“Keep pushing me, fool. You won’t be the first arrogant imbecile I’ve buried.”

“And you won’t be the first blowhard cunt I’ve beheaded.”

A thick silence coagulated between the two men, laying over them like a toxic miasma. The sun retreated further west, prompting the shadows to creep off the building and go slithering over Hubert’s shoulders. And Hubert wore that darkness well. Folding his arms close to his body in something akin to a vampire resting in his coffin, Hubert smiled eerily at the Ashen Demon.

“I’ll be looking forward to your next slip-up, Byleth. if you want to enjoy what little time you have left, stay away from Lady Edelgard. Anyone but her.”

“Ah… so you don’t mind if I fuck anyone else here, huh?”

“Not at all. In fact, if its virgins you’re after, I’d suggest Bernadetta. As unsociable as she is, I guarantee you’d have her around your little finger if you manage to seduce her. And that shouldn't be a challenge for a man of your experience, should it?”

“Whoring out your own classmate? Gods, you are an asshole, aren't you?” 

Hubert’s thin lips twisted ever upwards, “And you aren’t for trying to lay them?”

“I’d like to think not. I just like to fuck is all.”

“Is that so? Well, Petra may prove to be a tad more difficult for you. Her people tend to take a more progressive mindset towards deviancy, but shes still a noble with a high standards… and as for Dorothea, I’m sure she’ll drop her skirt if you drop enough coin in return.”

“Thanks for the tip. But I think I’ll do things my way.”

“You’re very welcome. I’d love to stay and chat, but I have no more time to waste trading insults with you, fool.”

Hubert rounded the building, quickly and quietly as a phantom, and vanishing just as quickly as one. Byleth huffed, tossing back the long sleeves of the overcoat hanging off his shoulders and making for the dining hall. 

Byleth hadn’t let Hubert know, but he was still on the fence on whether it'd be worth it to stay in school just for a chance to lay Edelgard. Now, however, he was going to do it just to spite that pasty prick. 

* * *

After having a quick lunch and returning to class in the nick of time, Byleth stared off into space for the remainder of the lesson. When the final bell rang and he sauntered out like a festered zombie, he found himself at a loss of what to do. His mind was already fried, leaving him a tired husk. What few girls passed him by didn’t even spare him a glance. A far cry from what he was used to, squealing village girls clinging to him and hailing him as a mighty savior who shielding their tiny, hapless communities from certain doom.

“No. I have to be smooth… I have to make this work.” Byleth decided. He looked up to the sky, watching stringy clouds burst vermilion, dyed from the sun dipping into the horizon, splashing the world with warm color. Until then, he decided he’d go blow off some steam before dinner. Byleth made for the training grounds, going around the dormitories, shooting straight for the large set of double doors that led right into his destination. He saw various students, none he recognized, milling about, discussing classes and other trite nonsense he didn’t care to hear.

Then, he noticed them.

Dimitri, he recognized instantly, his tall, lean build and brilliant blonde hair setting him apart from the crowd. And next to him was someone that’d be impossible to miss. It was a near giant. Towering and muscular, his snowy-white hair in stark contrast to his dark complexion, a man of Duscar if Byleth had ever saw one. But Byleth was in no mood to chat. The mercenary tried to keep his head down and avoid them entirely, but Dimitri spotted him pacing by regardless. He moved in Byleth’s way, waving him down and extending a friendly hand.

“Ah! This is the man I’ve been telling you about, Dedue. The Ashen Demon, Byleth Eisner!”

“Nice to meet you, I guess.” Byleth said curtly, and tried to squeeze around both broad-shouldered men. But he found himself with little room to maneuver.

“You have my deepest gratitude for saving Prince Dimitri.” the humongous man said, gratefully folding one arm over his chest and bowing his head, “Shall I cook you a quality meal as thanks?”

“Yeah… no.” Byleth grumbled, taking one look at Dedue’s massive, meaty fists and deciding they were made more for crushing skulls than preparing delicacies, “You wanna help me, keep a nice, long distance away from me.”

“I… I understand.” Dedue said with a hint of solemness in his deep, gruff voice, “For a man Duscar like myself… forgive me. I had no right to assume you’d tolerate my presence.”

“Hey, hey! It’s not like I hate you because of your race.” Byleth quickly corrected him, “I just prefer the fairer sex when I’m looking for company. I hate all men equally. Get it?”

“There’s no need for such wild excuses, Ashen Demon. I understand why you’d not want to associate with me…”

“Aah…” Byleth sighed as he rubbed at his temples, “Just don’t try to steal any of my girls, and we’ll be fine.”

To Dedue’s side, Byleth saw Dimitri’s face twist up. 

“Byleth… did… did you choose Edelgard simply because she was a woman?”

“Oh, ya figured it out. Sorry, princey. Get back to me when you’ve got a nice set of tits and a round ass, and I’ll think about transferring to your class.” 

“You’re… you’re just like Sylvain. Unbelievable.” Dimitri nearly whimpered, “Please, tell me you’re jesting, Byleth. There's no reason a man of your talent needs to be running about philandering like some-”

Seeing an opening, Byleth slipped between Dimitri and Dedue, paying neither of them mind as he continued on his way to the training grounds. 

* * *

It was his first time there, and the training grounds didn’t fail to impressive Byleth. Inside was an long brick path, towering arches on either side for as long as he could see. From between the arches, he saw long areas dedicated to archery, confined spaces with sandy floors where knights spared with spear and sword, and large spaces with students striking at training dummies with every weapon under the sun.  
  
After a few minutes of searching, he found a two familiar men. A squared off area of about ten meters either way, Caspar was facing their professor. Staying silent, he held his place at the entrance, a tad curious to see how the fight would go down. 

Caspar hollered like a deranged monkey, throwing a rain of blows at Jeritza. Upon first glance, Byleth discredited the little scrapper’s punches as clumsy and wild - but looking closer, he saw that every single blow he threw was in proper form, hitting with a respectable amount of power. Yet Jeritza still proved far superior. The combat instructor stood perfectly in place, blocking each and every one of Caspar’s punches without so much as a drop of sweat rolling down his chin. Undaunted, Caspar threw a feint - while Jeritza moved to block it, Caspar ducked close to the ground and kicked out at Jertiza’s legs.

Byleth watched, almost awed, as Jeritza sprung right over the sweeping kick, vaulting over and landing right behind Caspar. The plucky noble went back to his feet with a perplexed expression on his face, having totally lost track of his foe - he never even saw Jeritza rearing back his arm.

A swift chop to his neck sent Caspar tumbling down. Jeritza caught his new student by the back of his shirt before he hit the ground. Saying nothing, Jertiza casually dragged Caspar over to a stone pillar and propped his limp body into a sitting position.

“Simpleton he may be… but he’s not half bad. I’ll enjoy squeezing the potential out of him.” Jeritza seemed to be talking more to himself than Byleth, the mercenary unsure if his professor had even noticed him yet.

“Uhh…” Byleth dumbly let his lips flap, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t fret Ashen Demon. He’ll be up again in an hour or so. Now, what is it you want from me?”

“Nothing. Just… I was just going to blow off a little steam before supper.” Byleth explained, blue eyes darting over to a training dummy near the corner of the small arena.

Jeritza’s face remained just as stiff and unmoved as Byleth’s. He briskly walked over to a rack of practice weapons, pulling out a wooden sword and tossing it over to Byleth. The young mercenary caught it with ease. 

“Go on ahead. Work out your frustrations and pay no mind to me. I’m just curious to see just what sort of swordsmanship the Blade Breaker has imparted onto his son.”

“Great. I’m supposed to be representing the old man now? If you’re so damn curious, why don’t you go and see how tough my dad is yourself?”

“I’m planning on it. But for now, his son should serve as a sufficient appetizer.”

Byleth felt a deep sense of revulsion stir in his stomach. He saw a grizzly, bizarre hunger in Jeritza, festering just behind that fancy little opera mask. If Byleth had considered himself a lesser man, he would’ve turned tail. But his bloated ego kept him anchored in that little training area, sword gripped tight in hand.

“Fine, professor. Sit back and feast your eyes.”

The young mercenary paced up and stood before the training dummy. He breathed out, lowering the blade, shifting into an aggressive stance and hovering the blade just a few inches from the dummy’s chest. He struck with an intensity that betrayed his silence. He swung the blade overhead, striking the dummy twice in the chest, each carrying enough force to easily knock it over it hadn’t been thoroughly bolted down. Byleth finally spun the blade about, striking the dummy’s temple so hard it’s head flew right off. 

Tightly packed straw burst out from the between the dummy's shoulders. The head bounced and rolled about, coming to a stop under Jeritza’s boot. Expression just as cold and stony as his mask, Jeritza brought pressure down and burst the head, spilling straw below his feet.

“Hmph. You don’t seem as mighty as the rumors made you out to be, Ashen Demon… not even close.”

Byleth’s body tensed up. If he were to write up a list of everything that peeved him, it would rival the length of an average epoch. But there were few things that truly dug under his skin. One, which he heard quite rarely, were fools doubting his strength.

“Trust me, jackass. You wouldn’t be talking shit if you saw how strong I was firsthand.”

Jeritza seems far from insulted by his student’s brutish language. Though his icy cold shell refused to thaw even the slightest bit.

“Oh? You seem quite confident, Ashen Demon. In that case… why not duel me?”

Byleth never enjoyed particularly enjoyed the rigors of battle. He saw it as merely a chore; a quick way to accrue power, esteem, respect, and wealth. Yet he was proud of his strength and prowess, and he’d certainly enjoy taking his professor down a few pegs.

“Sure. I’m up for a fight.”

Jeritza’s smirk widened. He went back to the weapon’s rack - this time, he reached behind it, pulling out two swords in each hand. He flicked each cross guard with his thumbs and the first few inches of the swords popped out of their sheaths, sunlight streaking down their immaculately polished bodies.

“Flimsy little wooden toys don’t… _ excite _ me. Surely, the Ashen Demon is the same?”

“Real iron? You looking for a duel to the death?”

Jeritza slowly shook his head to both sides, “I just want to spar. But I’m a poor hand at holding back… you might get hurt if you go through with this. Still want to fight?”

“Just give me a sword and get ready to eat your words.”

Jeritza tossed one blade over to Byleth, who promptly yanked it out of the air and tossed it’s sheath to the side, settling down into an aggressive stance. Jeritza drew his own blade, gripping the handle tight and aiming the tip towards his student’s chest.

The mercenary and the professor inched towards each other, blades never faltering, trading frosty glares right until they were in range.

Byleth struck first, hard and fast, aiming a downward slash towards Jeritza’s head. The masked man raised his own weapon, one hand tight around the handle and the other supporting the flat of the blade. When their iron met, Byleth expected Jeritza’s defense to crumble… instead, he found his sword racing down the side of Jeritza’s own, and unable to stop the force of his own blow, Byleth stumbled past his professor’s side. Nearly falling onto his face, Byleth righted himself just as he felt the cold, sharp edge bite into the small of his skin.

“I could’ve killed you there…” Jeritza growled huskily, “Severed your spine.”

Byleth swiveled around,aiming to slice Jeritza’s ridiculous mask right in half. Jeritza just as easily parried his second swing, again using Byleth’s own weight and power to throw him off balance.

“You’re well used to fighting brain-rotted bandits… but that leaves your technique severely lacking. Your skills are rusty.”

“That right?” Byleth grunted, quickly jabbing at Jeritza’s iron-clad defenses, his blows about as effective as waves crashing against a rocky cliffside.

Byleth shuffled to Jeritza’s side, slashing at his ribcage. Their blades met once more, locked together in a sparking clash. Byleth ground his feet into the tightly packed sand below, feeling his stance give way as Jeritza’s overwhelming strength pushed against him. Thinking quickly, Byleth suddenly redirected all the muscle he was throwing forward left. With Jeritza’s face unguarded, Byleth removed one hand from his handle, balled it into a tight fist, and popped his professor in the mouth.

Byleth felt the pressure from Jeritza’s sword ease. The Ashen Demon dug his knuckles from Jeritza’s lips, finding them bloodied… and curled into a wry grin. Jeritza shot forward faster than Byleth could follow. Their foreheads connected, and Byleth stumbled backwards stunned from the vicious headbutt.

Jeritza hit Byleth’s sword with a vicious swing, snapping the blade cleanly in half. The impact sent vibrations up Byleth’s arm, numbing his fingers until the handle slipped out. Before Byleth could remount a proper defense, he felt Jeritza’s boot crash into his stomach. A choked wheeze escaped Byleth’s lips. He collapsed to his knees, coughing and gasping. As the air pumped through his windpipe, he felt the cold, hard tip of a sword pressed up to his throat.

The young mercenary glanced up with hard, icy blue eyes. Jeritza was waiting, towering above him, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Challenge me again sometime once you’ve improved… Ashen Demon.” 

The sword went from Byleth’s throat back into Jeritza’s sheath in a flash of gray. The professor turned his back to his student, pacing away, departing the training grounds. As Byleth was left gasping for air, on his hands and knees, he ground his fingers into the sand.

And his detached, uncaring face shattered, leaving an ugly, hateful scowl. The Ashen Demon rose to his feet, swaying back and forth, clutching his injured stomach.

“We’ll… see… you bastard…”

A mighty yawn interrupted Byleth’s low, crazed ramblings. Caspar rose from his sleep, stretching out his tired arms before craning one eye open, which immediately locked in on Byleth.

“Uh… oh, hey, Byleth! Man, I’m starving! Wanna go grab some dinner? Hey, what happened to Jeritza?”

Caspar whipped his head around, wiping a sleeve over his eyes, but he still found himself alone. Byleth had stormed out, in the opposite direction of Jeritza. Groaning, the young scrapper popped his sore neck and pried himself back on his feet.

“Man. Those guys are intense.”

* * *

Byleth ignored the swarm of happy, chatting students all about him. He wasn’t in the mood for anything at the moment. He just stomped into the mess hall, grabbed a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, and went on his way. Not having anywhere in particular, he exited out the back and stomped up onto an outlook, giving him a fine view of Garreg Mach’s vast artificial pond. Even he couldn’t deny how beautiful the light of the full moon and stars was as it played off the darkened waters. The gorgeous sight didn’t serve to elevate his sour mood, however.

He aggressively took a bite from the loaf, then a nibble of the cheese. He’d show that cocky bastard Jeritza. He aggressively swallowed, taking another two mouthfuls.

“Oh, so you’re our new student? Jeralt’s son? The illustrious Ashen Demon? My, aren’t you handsome~”

Byleth nearly choked as he heard the woman’s voice from behind. Managing to down his food without making a scene, he hastily wiped the crumbs from his lips and spun around, tucking his dinner into his coat on the way.

An older woman stood behind him, wearing an elegant coat over a teal dress that did little to hide her plump breasts and long, soft legs. She stood leaning towards him just a tad, and he noticed her tits swaying softly and subtly. The woman was practically radiating lewdness.

“Oh… hey there.” Byleth smirked, further soaking in the mature woman’s ripe body as he leaned against the stone railing behind him.

“If memory serves… you’re Byleth, aren’t you? Jeralt's boy?” the woman cooed, eyeing him up and down, “I’m Manuela. I’m a professor, a physician, a songstress… and available.”

“Oh… you’re a songstress?” 

“Why, yes I am. Before I came here, I was the Mittlefrank Company’s beautiful, peerless star… perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Sorry. Never been one for theater.” Byleth replied honestly.

Manuela cooed, approaching him and wantonly tracing her fingers up his firm chest, “Well… if you’re ever lonely, come to the infirmary and pay me a visit. I’d love to tell you all about it.”

She rubbed those experienced porcelain fingers across his chin - then waltzed away, quite purposefully exaggerating her every step so her wide hips swayed with vigor. Byleth’s blue eyes watched them go, admiring the way her tight teal dress clung to her rump before she vanished into the mess hall.

“Nice.” the young lecher whistled into the empty night, already feeling the blood rushing to his cock, his previous fury at Jeritza humiliating him all but forgotten.

Feeling quite high on life, Byleth leaned further back into the old stone railing - and he didn’t hear the cracking until it was far too late. The crumbling railing unable to take the strain of his full weight, it broke at his back, and the Ashen Demon was left speechless as he plummeted into the hedges below. Groaning and crawling out, shaking the leaves from his overcoat, he leered at the broken railing.

“Hope Seteth didn’t see that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'll try and get back on a more regular update schedule.


	5. Scholarly Pursuits

* * *

_ **4/29/1180** _

* * *

"…Byleeeeeth… you are planning on leaving your bed _today, _aren’t you?”

He hadn’t been planning on it. He never was one for books. Or reading. Or homework, or studying. After only a few days of school, Byleth felt completely sapped of all vigor. He supposed academia wasn’t his strong suit. The prospect of skipping town to start impaling bandits for piles of coin again sounded more and more appealing, though he doubted trying to sneak out of the monastery and flee from the church would end well for him. However, he had been in tighter spots, so the option wasn’t totally off the table. He'd wait just a bit longer, see if spending a semester at the academy would be worth his time.

As the fog cleared from his mind, it dawned on Byleth that it was his first Sunday off, the only break he’d get the whole week, as Jeritza put his class through mandatory combat practice the previous day. He was planning on utilizing it to its full extent. He wasn’t even left with any energy to go hunting for pussy as he had originally planned.

“Come now, child. Wasting the day away in bed will do you no good!” Sothis chirped above him.

“Eventually.” Byleth yawned, wishing Sothis herself would fall back into hibernation.

A nasty look soured Sothis’s adorable features, “I mean it! How are you to ever improve if you never challenge yourself?"

Byleth’s crusty, bloodshot eyes at last blinked open. A deep rumble came out of his chest, something between a yawn and a peeved growl. He rubbed his thighs together, feeling his morning wood throbbing between his legs. 

‘_Yep… about time I did something about this.’_

The young merc peeled himself from bed. Not bothering to get himself dressed, he threw himself into his bedside desk, yanking an empty notebook from a stack of virginal white textbooks. He slapped it open, grabbing the colored chalks gifted to him by the school and putting them to the parchment. He drew bright, simplistic stick figures on each page.

“Just what is it you’re doing?” Sothis floated over, brow creased in worry.

Byleth kept going, furiously scribbling down his sloppy artistic renderings. Edelgard was finished first. Bernedetta, Dorothea, Petra, and Manuela soon followed. He yanked open his drawer, which he had filled with a copious amount of knives, daggers, and dirks, and utilized them to stab each of his crude drawings into the wall.

“Do I even want to know?” Sothis grumbled. While Byleth’s artistry was far from perfect, she recognized each girl well enough.

“You want me to stay active? Have it your way. I would've been satisfied just doing it with Edelgard, but I’ll take your advice and challenge myself… before this year is over, I’ll lay every girl I’ve met here.” 

“Every girl in your class?! Professor Manuela?!” Sothis exclaimed in disbelief.

“Hey, you're the one who said I should challenge myself. Just when I was starting to think it’d be a lost cause to try and fuck her, but… you’re right. As long as I’m stuck in this dusty old shitpile, I might as well keep myself busy. Maybe I’ll even go for the girls in Golden Deer and Blue Lions.”

“You’re sick.” Sothis scolded him in clear disgust, “Is that all women are to you? Trophies of some mere chauvinistic conquest ? Mere objects to use then discard for your own pleasure?”

“I don’t view anyone as an object. I just like to fuck. And if they really don’t want to, I’m not going to blackmail them or force them into it or anything.” Byleth grumbled, tapping his finger against Manuela’s caricature, “Besides. She’s thirsty as hell. And I’m gonna quench her.”

“With pickup lines like those, she’ll end up drier than a sand pit.” Sothis groaned in irritation, “Honestly. With how blunt and bullheaded you are, it's a wonder how you’ve had any experience with women at all!”

“Okay… I admit, I came on a bit strong with Edelgard back there… but she was right. I’ve never really had much contact with people my age. Y'know... aside from a quick fling. All the sex I’ve had, it’s been village girls or bar maids rewarding me when I saved them or their village. That, or they were just impressed by how strong I am.”

“Oh yes. I’m sure you were traumatized by all those wicked vixens craving naught but your seed.” Sothis huffed, “Justify it however you like.”

“What? You still think I’m some kind of sicko pervert?”

“Yes! And I wouldn’t be surprised if I was in hell right now, serving my eternal punishment by being chained to a piggish child like you!”

“Think whatever you want about me.” Byleth gave up defending himself from the phantom imp’s scalding accusations, “Just don’t bother me when I’m trying to get my nut off, and we’ll be fine.”

Byleth was pacing around the room, gathering his things, but when he finally turned to see what kind of face Sothis was making, she was gone. Whether she was back to sleep or had just retreated within him again while still awake, he neither knew nor cared. He slipped one of his black gloves over his hands, tightening his leather-clad fingers into a determined fist.

By the end of the day, he’d have Manuela screaming his name.

* * *

“Infirmary… infirmary…” 

Byleth navigated the titanic reception building once more. He made his way to the second floor, stalking past Seteth and his father’s offices without sparing them a second glance. Pacing down the obnoxiously long hallway, he kept his eyes open for the room where Manuela would surely be. His eyes were busy darting from one end of the hallway to the other, reading each plate hung up on every door. He was so focused, he only noticed the presence of the dapper old gentleman standing in the hallway just before they bumped into each other.

“Ah! Greetings. I am Professor Hanneman, also known as the Father of Crestology.”

Byleth usually would never spare even a single second to some blathering geezer, especially whilst on a quest for cunt. Yet for whatever reason, he was felt he needed to check if this Hanneman wasn’t just some raving lunatic who had managed to sneak into the building. That would end up proving disastrous for everyone involved.

“Uh… and just what is crestology, exactly?”

“The study of crests, of course.” Hanneman explained with a gentle smile.

“...what? Like the things nobles stitch onto their banners?"

“You don’t know what a crest is?!” Hanneman cried out, in clear and utter shock.

“Should I?”

Hanneman nearly burst a vein, “Yes, you should! Fódland’s very system of nobility is based upon crests! How have you grown into a man without so much as hearing about them?”

“I have. I told you, they’re those things rich people use to-”

“I meant the ones _inside _you.” Hanneman corrected, pressing his gloved finger to Byleth’s chest.

“Don’t touch me.” Byleth demanded, slapping the older gent’s hand away, "And don't talk about my innards."

“Fair enough. I suppose I owe a proper explanation.” Hanneman nodded, cracking open the door to his office, “Come, have a seat. Allow me to tell you everything - absolutely everything - about them! Is your schedule for today clear? What about the next few weeks? If you could drop by after your classes for a bit, I’d be more than happy to-”

“Just make it short and sweet, whiskers.” Byleth interrupted the professor, rolling his eyes as he stepped into the office, “I’ve got places to be.”

“If you insist. Brief it shall be.” Hanneman cheered, stepping in after Byleth, “You see, crests are said to be gifts from the goddess, passed down from great heroes from generation to generation, through their respective noble houses. If one poses a crest they have access to a wide manner of boons, such as enhanced physical strength, or abnormally high magical potential. On account of your infamous reputation as a mercenary, I believe you might’ve inherited one. Which is _incredibly _odd, because as far as I can trace back, you’re not related to any sort of crest-bearing nobility.”

“So, what?” Byleth sighed, irritably, “You want to run tests on me and see for sure?”

“Quite so.” Hanneman cheered, already pulling a strange needle-armed device with an attached bloodbag out from his desk, “I’ll need samples of your blood, urine, hair follicles, maybe some-”

Byleth made for the door.

“Wait, wait!” Hanneman cried out in desperation, “Oh, forget all that! I'll just run a preliminary test. Just stick your hand under this device over here. It’ll only take a moment or two and won’t hurt a bit, I swear.”

“Considering how big of a hard on you’ve got for crests, you’re not gonna stop hounding me until I do some stupid test, right?” Byleth asked over his shoulder, hand still hovering over the doorknob.

“I wouldn’t put it quite so crudely, but yes. Unraveling the mysteries of crests is my purpose in life.” Hanneman unashamedly declared.

“Fine.” Byleth grumbled, “But this better be quick, or I’m going to jam my fist somewhere else, if you catch my drift.” 

“Yes, yes. I get the picture. Now if you’d please, come over here and I’ll get the test running.”

Hanneman motioned Byleth over, and the young mercenary hadn’t the foggiest clue of what he was looking at. The device appeared to be some rectangular podium, crowned with a sheet of violet glass - and above that, attached from the back of the device with an arcing arm, was some strange disk-shaped contraption. Whatever the hell it was, Byleth wanted more to smash it up and toss it into a lake than surrender his hand to it.

Glancing over to Hanneman, Byleth deemed him decidedly far too eager for results. Deciding to just get it over with and have the geezer out of his life for good, Byleth slapped his open palm onto the glass and waited. Soon enough, an amethyst light erupted from the device – and above Byleth’s hand, in the midst of that light, a complex rune Byleth couldn’t recognize appeared.

“I-incredible! Absolutely astounding!” the awed Hanneman came rushing towards the device, vigorously adjusting his monocle for a better look, “A pattern I’ve never seen before?! Would could this possibly mean? To think, there are crests as of yet undiscovered-”

Byleth slowly backed away, tuning out Hanneman as he began ranting about lines and symmetries and what they could’ve possibly meant in relation to his so-called crest. Quiet as church mouse, he slipped out of the office, leaving the mad professor to his ramblings.

He still had to a visit to pay to Manuela.

* * *

Three swift knocks – Byleth barely refrained himself from putting his boot through the door when he finally found the damned infirmary. His quick taps were enough to summon the woman he had been searching for. The door slowly creaked open, and leaning into the door frame, her heavy breasts swaying, was Manuela.

“Oh my! Dropping by so soon? You’re an eager boy, aren’t you?”

“Mmph.” Byleth grunted in confirmation, gently placing a hand on the professor’s shoulder, guiding her back into the room as he barged in.

“I expected this to take a bit of time. Exchange a few smiles as we passed each other in the hall, flirt a bit, shoot each other glances at the dining hall during meals… well, none of that matters, does it? You’re here now. And I _adore _men who know what they want.”

Byleth kept quiet, head turning, looking at a blushing Manuela from over his shoulder. It seemed she was pinning just as badly for him as he was for her.

“Wow. That welcome didn’t phase you at all, did it?”

Remaining totally silent, Byleth paced back, locking the door before rushing over to Manuela. He grabbed her by the thick hips, ignoring her knee-jerk flailing before stomping over and tossing her onto one of her sloppily made sick beds. So far, she wasn't protesting. Things were going just smoothly, and he was relieved that he barely had to open his mouth. It looked like he wouldn't have to resort to honeyed words just yet.

Wasting no more time, Byleth dug his fingers into her thighs. Her snowy skin was just as supple as it looked, and he could still feel the lean muscles underneath, a gift off her lifetime on the stage, no doubt. Byleth couldn’t wait to feel them wrapped around his waist.

A shiver raced up Manuela’s back, yet she allowed him to continue. Byleth ran his tongue across her inner thigh, the rough fingers hidden beneath his gloves dancing along her flush skin. His left hand danced up, along her calf, squeezing and pinching, until he hit her foot and yanked off her high-heel. He did the same with her other leg, and with an almost dramatic flair, discarded his overcoat and hopped atop of her, his thighs beside hers, hands sinking into mattress at either side of her face.

“Wow… you… you don’t waste any time, do you-?”

“Nope.” Byleth growled in a husky voice, biting the tip of one of his gloves – he pulled out his hand, slipping it off, and reached for the older woman’s breasts. His greedy fingers slipped under her dress, pleased to find her without a bra. He freed each plump, milky tit, hungrily eyeing them as they jiggled to a rest. It seemed living a tad past her prime hadn’t ruined her fine body quite yet.

Byleth lent in closer, and the scent of fine liquors and lavender perfume filled his nostrils. He eagerly took one nipple into his mouth, sucking, licking, and nipping and the sensitive bud. His other hand snaked up her body, groping the other tit. Manuela bit her lip, barely stopping a moan, throwing her head back and digging her fingers into Byleth’s messy mop of dark blue hair. Byleth switched sides, suckling on her other breast until both her nipples were nice and hard.

Byleth made quick work of his tunic – he tossed it off, fully exposing his upper body, arms and pectorals covered in scars from battles long past, hardened and sculpted like marble. Manuela seemed to drink in the sight like an expensive wine, gently grazing his stomach with her soft knuckles.

“My goodness…” she cooed, voice dripping with desire, hands reaching lower, “You’re quite the fine specimen...”

Byleth’s unshakable poker face wasn’t moved by the flirtation. His ego soared ever higher, his fingers playing along the hem of her dress while her own hands undid his belt. It fell to the floor, and with a simple tug from the professor, Byleth’s cock sprang free.

“Oh my. You _are _a big boy, aren’t you?”

Byleth could see the shock on her face, despite the front of cool seduction she kept in her voice. His rough fingers slipped towards her pussy in turn, pleasantly surprised when he found she was wearing no undergarments. He slowly, tortuously dragged his thumb up her wet lips, stopping just before he touched her clit. Not wasting a single second longer, he flipped up her skirt and pressed his crown against her sobbing folds.

“What are you waiting for?” the lusty songtress whined, wriggling against him, “_Fuck me._”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Byleth pressed into her, felt the how tight her walls squeezed him – he figured it must’ve been quite some time since she had any action.

“Yes, yes...”

Spurred forward by melody of her sweet moans, Byleth forced more and more of his cock within her, forcing the final few inches in with a rough thrust. Their hips met with a lewd slap, his balls slapping against her fat ass. He pulled half-way out, then slammed himself in again, Manuela’s eyes shooting open. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop a scream from coming out, her other hand shooting for the headboard to secure herself.

It didn’t take Byleth long to take things to the next level. His thrusts picked up pace, rocking the bed, sending Manuela’s toes curling and her eyes springing wide. His hips became a blur, halfway out, then plunging all the way in, sounding off with a wet slap. Manuela’s hand tightened around her cheeks, but the moans leaked out all the same.

“Fuck… fuck…!” Manuela swore, moving her hands to Byleth’s shoulders, no longer caring that she was showing such a side to the younger man – blushing madly, drool trailing down her chin, face awash with pleasure. Byleth only kept on his smirk, panting himself, leaning over and roughly groping the professor’s breasts.

“Don’t… don’t stop...” she gasped, “Oh goddess… I’m gonna-!”

Byleth felt her tighten up for a final time. Grunting he shortly followed suit, slamming himself all the way to base, firing off rope after rope into her cunt. For a long few moments they remained locked together, senses fuzzy, the world fading from white back to reality. Sluggishly compared to his previous fevered pace, Byleth let out a long breath and pulled out, flopping away and landing on his butt.

Manuela panted, palm over her sweaty forehead, huffing for breath. She reached between her legs, dipping in two fingers. She brought them out, clicking her tongue as she found the sticky white goop stretching between her pointer and middle finger, “Ah… you could’ve just knocked me up, you know. You’re one crazy kid, aren’t you?”

“I’ve done crazier.” Byleth grunted simply, scooting over to the edge of the bed, wiggling out of his trousers and underwear, soaked with his musty sweat. He tossed them on the floor, now nude, and turned back to Manuela with a smirk.

“You _would _take responsibility... wouldn’t you?”

“If I had to.” Byleth sighed, but knowing that wasn't a possibility. 

“Ah – good. I see your old man beat _some _sense of reason into you.” she chuckled, ridding herself of her own matted dress, “Well, no need to worry. I always take an herbal supplement that acts as birth control every week.”

“Every week? You really get around that much?”

“Not recently – but it never hurts to be careful. Ah… it really has been too long...” Manuela cooed, eyes falling to Byleth’s wet shaft, still hard and rearing to go another round, “My, my. You’ve got quite a bit of stamina, don’t you?”

Pride swelled in Byleth’s chest, “That I do.”

Manuela turned around, bracing herself on the metal headboard of the sick bed. She propped herself on her knees, looking to Byleth over her shoulder, shaking her fat rear towards her new partner, “Well, kid… ready for round two?”

Her jiggling ass and the sticky trail of his cum leaking down her thighs was all the motivation Byleth needed. He hustled behind her, ruthlessly slamming himself within her once more, her moans and the bed’s loud creaking filling the musty air.

‘_Yeah… this year might not end up being so bad after all.’_

* * *

Byleth stepped out of the reception hall, cracking his sore neck. His body felt numb and drained, but above that he felt relaxed and refreshed all around. He made sure to be extra careful to avoid drifting to near any students or facility, making sure they didn’t catch a whiff of his body, still stinking of sweat and sex.

The sun was already dipping back into the horizon, and Byleth was surprised to find he and Manulea’s romp had lasted nearly the whole day. His stomach rumbled, and he realized he was so overcome with lust he had ignored lunchtime. He wanted to go straight to the dining hall, but figured he’d have to wash up first, lest any pompous brats go whining to Seteth about his hygiene.

His roundabout path led him by a secluded area of the monastery a few buildings behind the dorms, where he saw only a select few minding their own businesses. Breathing with relief, Byleth crept further towards the bathhouses.

He stopped prematurely, taking note of something peculiar. Around a corner, hidden partially by shrubbery, he saw a familiar girl. The commoner girlfrom his class, Dorothea. She was chatting with a Knight of Serios, a swordsman wrapped up in their typical brilliant ivory armor. Byleth ducked behind a thick tree, an ideal spot for him to both catch a better look while remaining out of both their sights. While he was still too far away to eavesdrop, even in the relative quiet, Dorothea’s body language and the knight’s blushing, dopey face suggested she was flirting rather suggestively with him.

Nodding excitedly, the knight slipped his helmet back on, and went he and Dorothea went their separate ways, and Byleth snorted like a boar who had just been issued a challenge. Was Dorothea really a gold digger as Hubert implied? Not that he minded too terribly if she was. He figured that would only make things easier – he decided right then and there Dorothea would be his next partner.

So long as another girl didn't throw himself to his feet, at least. The young mercenary returned to his current mission. Sneaking up from behind, he managed to reach the bath houses without being spotted.

He slipped stealthily into the changing room, discarding all of his clothes and grabbing a fluffy towel and bar of soap in a flash. He marched into the next room, where the large pool was already warm and ready – he navigated through the steam and slipped in, sighing with relief as the warm water soothed his sore muscles, cleaning away the grim and stench that had clung to him. Leaning against the edge of the tub, he laid his head against his folded towel, eyes slipping shut...

“Holy crap, dude." chuckled a deep, rumbling voice, "You’re shredded.”

Byleth’s eyes burst back open, and he whipped his head up to find quite possibly the largest fellow he had ever laid eyes upon admiring his well-sculpted pecs from across the length of the bath – to his side was some stringy geek with a horribly tacky haircut.

“Raphael! Don’t say stuff like that to someone you just met. I bet you’re making him uncomfortable.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, Ig."

“Don’t apologize to me, say sorry to-”

Byleth zoned their conversation out, wondering just how he hadn’t noticed them as he got in, even through the haze of steam. As more of it cleared, he was appalled to find two other men with which he shared the humongous tub.

“My, my. How uncouth.” snorted the third one, a man almost as pale and even taller than Hubert, who’s haircut was somehow even more horrendous than the geek’s.

Claude was the fourth – his dark hair let down, freshly washed. He laughed wryly, throwing a short and friendly wave over to Byleth.

“Glad you could join us, buddy. Have you met the boys yet? Rapheal, Ignatz-”

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. A pleasure to meet you.” the snide boy interrupted Claude, Byleth instantly recognizing him as a noble by both his snide demeanor and long-ass name.

Byleth stared dryly at each and every one of them. Without uttering a word, he grabbed his towel and soap, emerging from the warm water, not bothering to cover himself.

“Holy-!” Ignatz nearly chocked to death on the air – while Raphael seemed almost entirely indifferent, and Lorenz was appalled beyond words.

“Whoa.” Claude whistled, “I can see why ladies put up with your personality now.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Byleth stomped away, cock swinging between his thighs, heading into the next bath, his modesty conserved by a low-hanging cloud of steam. He approached the next soapy pool, only to find it already occupied by the men of the Blue Lion house.

“Ah. Byleth. Nice to see you.” Dimitri smiled up at him, ever the gentleman, “But wouldn’t you prefer to bath with your own classmates?”

“I would prefer not to bath with other men.” Byleth spat down, eyes traveling from the relaxing Dedue over to the three other fellows.

The pale, freckled boy introduced himself first, “Nice to meet you! I’m Ashe.”

“Felix.” grunted the surly-one, not meeting him face-to-face, too busy washing out his mass of stringy hair.

“Hows it goin’? I’m Sylvain.” the red-headed man with wild eyes introduced himself, “Nice to meet you, Ashen Demon. I’d offer to hang out sometime, but – hell, could you imagine all the rumors that would stir up? Who knows what kind’ve trouble we’d get into.”

Byleth just grumbled, having a few choice words for the lot of them, but deciding it'd be best not to provoke a fight and have a naked wrestling match with five other men. He wrapped the towel around his waist before heading back to the front of the bathhouse – where he was stopped by an attendant in the changing room, his glare chocked with accusation.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To whoever runs this shitshow.”

“That would be me...” the attendant snorted, arms folded over his chest, “You have any complaints?”

“I do, yeah.” Byleth growled, jamming his thumbs back towards the baths, “Why in hell do I have to share a bath with those idiots? Don’t you have any private tubs?”

“No, we don’t. That would be an egregious waste of precious water – we use natural hot springs to heat the baths up here.” the bath attendant shot back bluntly, “If you’re worried about soaking in other’s filth, don’t be. We clean each bath thoroughly, and use a special herbal formula in each bath to-”

“I’m not a neat freak.”

“Then whats the problem? You don’t have anything those other boys haven’t seen. Group baths are a Garreg Mach tradition.”

Byleth raised a clenched fist, “I share bathes with girls or nobody. Thats final.”

The attendant’s eye rolled, and he held his forehead in one palm, “Yeah. I figured as much… Seteth told me to watch out for you in particular. I thought he was just being a worrywart as usual, but know… jeez. Look kid, I’m not letting you into the women’s baths. If you really wanna have a private bath, you can go buy your own damn tub from the market and draw the water yourself.”

Teeth grit, Byleth was about to tell the attendant that that was far too much of a pain in the ass to bother with – and to remind the man he could easily break him in two of he so desired.

“Heeeey, Byleth! Why don’t you come take a bath with your old man and I?!”

Byleth wanted to run back and drown himself in the water the instant he heard that voice. He turned to find Alios and his father approaching, towels around both their waists.

“No.” Byleth spat immediately.

Jeralt stepped forward, eyeing his child up and down, “Looks like you’ve already had a dip – but your hair is dry as a bone. You weren’t giving the management any trouble, were you son?”

“I… uh..” Byleth’s brain nearly caught fire scrambling for an excuse, “Was just looking for my classmates. Yeah. For bonding time.”

Smugly, the attendant tapped him on the shoulder and pointed back towards the baths, “The Black Eagle boys? Third bath from the left. Better hurry, or they’ll finish without you.”

Byleth bit the corner of his lip – no one noticed. Face unflinching, he turned and reentered the baths, swiftly coming to a tub with four boys soaking in the heated, soapy water. His fellow classmates – the ones he had barely bothered to remember, faces only recognizable due to the long hours he had spent letting his focus wander aimlessly about the classroom.

“Ah. How nice of you to join us, Byleth.”

Hubert was sat at the far end of the tub, his hair looking like inky tentacles slithering down a pale, smirking skeleton. Grunting, Byleth dropped his towel and entered the opposite end, far away from Hubert as feasible possible whilst sharing a bath. The drawback to his strategy was that it put him closer to a more pompous noble.

“Ah! My friend!” Ferdinand had just finished pouring a small bucket of warm water over his luscious hair, sending suds sliding down his shoulders, “I’m glad you could make it. We couldn’t find you – I tell you, nothing beats sharing a relaxing bath with your compatriots after a long, rigorous day.”

“You can say that again...” Caspar sighed, neck-deep into the water, letting the soothing, steamy liquid ease his weary muscles. Lindhart seemed to snort in agreement – although he was fast asleep, only a foot or two away from Caspar, head propped over the side of the tub, resting on a stack of fluffy towels.

Having nothing to say, Byleth kept his lips sealed. Figuring he ought to accomplish the single objective he set out for the baths in the first place for, he grabbed some soap and bucket, washing out his sweaty, crusty hair.

The suds fell into the water, bringing clumps of dust and grim with them – and then, Byleth sensed movement, felt the water ripple gently nearby. His head whipped back up, wet hair flipping over and slapping the back of his neck. He glared down Hubert, who crept dangerously close to him.

“What the hell are you-”

“Relax.” Hubert eased him down, reaching near Byleth’s back, “I just needed a tad more soap. Do you mind?”

“…go ahead.”

Still with the devious smirk, Hubert grabbed a worn bar of purple soap from beside the tub. He brought it close, and while never breaking eye-contact with Byleth, took a few long sniffs.

“Ah. Lavender. What a lovely scent. Wouldn't you agree?"

Underneath the water, Byleth’s fists clenched. Manuela’s perfume. The scent was lavender. Byleth would readily admit he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, yet it would take a complete dunce not to catch on to Hubert's meaning. He opened his lips, and a low growl came out in place of words.

“...did you have fun with her, Byleth?”

“I swear on my mother's grave, Hubert, if your creepy ass was spying on me-”

“Calm yourself. I wasn’t watching the act itself – I just so happened to witness you enter her infirmary. Quite the ladies man, aren’t you? Or perhaps you’re just a bumbling fool, and all the success in your love life is nothing but a cocktail of hardheadedness, utter lack of shame, and sheer luck. Who can say?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Byleth snorted, “You have a point, gruesome? If not, let me wash my taint in peace.”

Before going on in their hushed tones, Hubert looked at the other three boys. Linhardt was still fast asleep, Caspar himself was starting to doze off, and Ferdinand was stuck in his own little world, scrubbing his hair clean and humming a small tune to himself. Satisfied, Hubert continued.

“Tell you what, Byleth, I’ll cut straight to the point. If you’re so eager to sleep around, I’ll assist you in any way I can.”

It took a long few seconds for Byleth to fully process that. When he did, he jammed an accusatory finger at Hubert's chest, “Why in the seven hells would you help me?” Byleth couldn’t help but think back on their last encounter, seeing no other possible reason Hubert would make the offer other then rope him into some elaborate murder scheme, "What? You planning to jam a knife in my back while I'm getting busy?"

“Simple.” Hubert smirked darkly, “The more girls you have on your plate, the less time you have foolishly trying to pursue Edelgard. Don’t misunderstand me. Normally, I’ve already slit your throat in your sleep… but she’s curious to see how much use you’ll be to our cause. If that’s the case, I’ve no choice but to see to it you don’t bother her. You're not the first dolt whose tried to bed Lady Edelgard, and not the first one I've had to avoid putting in the ground. Braggadocios nobles, usually. But I've seen to it their lustful desires were put in check, through any means available... ”

“I’m not a rapist. I don’t need you kidnapping or drugging a girl, you sick-”

“No, nothing like that… if you insist.” Hubert soothed him, “I’ll simply aid you, if you wish to woo anyone that catches your fancy. If you need info or a gift to seduce a woman, I’ll provide it to you. As long as you don’t try anything with Edelgard, I’ll provide any aid within reason.”

The tiniest hint of a smile crossed Byleth’s lips, “Thanks, gruesome. I’ll keep that in mind…. not that I’ll need your help.”

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see about that..." Hubert cooed, rubbing the soap across his pale skin, "In due time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down. Sorry it didn't go up sooner, I was busy with the DLC that just dropped. Some maps were a tad questionable, but I really enjoyed the story. Definitely going to include some elements of the Ashen Wolves in this story, as I was already planning on having the Abyss featured somewhere in here. And yes, Byleth will eventually lewd Coco and Hapi, though I wouldn't hold my breath on that one.


	6. Rivalry of the Houses

* * *

** _ 4/30/1180_ **

* * *

Byleth couldn’t help stop himself from scoffing. Having been raised on bloody battlefields, he couldn’t help but think of the tense air hanging around the bulk of the other students as rather pathetic. It was nothing more than a mock battle, not even real iron and steel were allowed. Everyone had been instructed to pick crude wooden mockeries of their preferred armaments before they were sorted out in the field.

All three classes had been set up in a forested area nearby a steep hill, only about an hour’s march away from Garreg Mach, it’s ivory walls still practically looming above them. Knights of Serios and other church officials darted about, securing the area to ensure no beasts or vagabonds complicated matters.

“Why are we out here again?” Byleth groaned in annoyance, “I mean, is there any point to this?”

Out of the entirety of the classmates at his back, Edelgard was the only one who dared to chide him.

“Of course there is. To gauge all of our abilities, see which areas need improvement. Likely, they’ll measure it against the larger mock battle we’ll be having later in the year.”

“That right…?”

Byleth’s cold blue eyes ran over the competition, taking casual note of the students of the rival classes. He noticed Hanneman was the professor of the Blue Lions, and that left Manuela as the Golden Deer’s teacher. He caught her throwing him a flirty wink when her back was turned to Claude and the rest. Briefly, he imagined Seteth’s head imploding from sheer rage if he had discovered their affair. The thought almost made him smirk. Almost.

The Blue Lions certainly looked more imposing than Claude’s class. He saw Dimitri, as well as the massive form of Dedue standing rigid and dutifully behind the prince. Felix was armed with sword, Sylvain with a lance, and Ashe with a bow, who fiddled with string while there was still time remaining.

The boys didn’t concern him, however.

He had only seen the girls once or twice as they came out of class. Now, he eyed them like a starving dog. Hubert slipped behind him, wearing his typical ominous, wry expression. Byleth snapped his fingers, pointing towards the three girls standing with the Blue Lions, “Alright, Hubert. What can you tell me about them?”

Without missing a beat, Hubert turned Byleth towards the short redheaded girl first, “Annette Fantine Dominic. She graduated from Faerghus’s Royal School of Sorcery after a single year… so needless to say, shes quite skilled in the art of combat magic.”

“Hubert...” Byleth started, sounding like a father admonishing his son, “I wanted info on the girl. Right? Like, whats her favorite food? Her hobbies? I really don’t care if shes good at shooting fireballs. That doesn’t exactly help me.”

“So far, I’ve only taken tabs on the students in the Officer’s Academy to see if they’re threats to Lady Edelgard.” Hubert spat bluntly, “I wasn’t planning on helping some brain rotted degenerate like you seduce his classmates. If you need to know that, you’ll have to give me a bit more time. Now, do you want their names or not?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Carry on.”

“Excellent. The woman Annette is talking to...” Hubert aimed Byleth slightly to the right, to the tall, homely girl speaking gingerly down to her friend, “Is Mercedes von Martritz. She went to the same academy as Annette, so their friendship is ironclad. I must warn you, however, that Mercedes was raised in a church. I highly doubt she’ll approve of your womanizing behavior.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Byleth snorted, turning towards the last girl, a blonde beauty warming up by taking a few practice swings with her wooden lance, “What about her?”

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea. Shes a noble, yes, but her house has seen better days. Her father’s desperate to marry her off, if my sources are to be believed...” Hubert trailed off, rubbing his chin, “I wouldn’t even bother, Byleth. Just figure your odds of laying a straight-laced noble, her father protecting her virginity like his coffers. Not to mention she’s childhood friends with Dimitiri, Sylvain, and Felix, so they’ll be protective of her as well. I’d say your chances are a thousand-to-one.”

“And thats the way I like ‘em.” Byleth smirked, swiveling over to the where the Golden Deer House waited for the battle to begin, “Okay. Now, do them.”

“Four girls, four boys, perfectly balanced.” Hubert mused, his hawkish gaze running over all of the girls, “You’d best hurry and snatch them up… unless you want them to be taken by their classmates.”

Byleth studied the Golden Deer boys a tad closer. He couldn’t imagine any woman looking twice Ignatz’s way, Raphael had a face only a mother could love, and the less said about Lorenz, the better. His only threat on that front might’ve been Claude.

“...yeah. I’ll be sure to do that.” Byleth snorted, eyes falling on the tomboyish girl in the group, “Okay. What about her?”

“Leonie Penelli. Hunter. Commoner. Her entire village pitched in to have her sent here, and she has quite the interest in... well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you.”

Byleth’s eyebrow cocked, picking up the wryness in Hubert’s voice, “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Trust me. You’ll see.”

“Alright...” Byleth shrugged, turning to the next girl, “What about her?”

She was certainly a feast for the eyes. The most conventionally attractive of her classmates by far. Her bust looked massive on her lithe frame, and Byleth certainly had a few ideas of what to do with those long, pink pigtails in the bedroom.

“Hilda Valentine Goneril. She’s from an important family in the Alliance… also quite a flirt, if rumors are to be believed.” Hubert clicked his tongue, dark, beady little eyes tracing over to the sullen-looking girl behind Hilda, “And the one with blue hair is Marianne von Edmund. Shes the adoptive daughter of the Margraviate of Edmund. Beyond that, I wasn’t able to dig up much on her.”

“Fantastic. Very helpful.” Byleth bit out.

“And the last girl...” Hubert motioned to the short, pouty girl with snowy-white hair, “Lystheia of the house Ordelia. Shes considered a prodigy in the magical arts. And while I’m sure you don’t care, her family also was involved in a revolt in the empire-”

“You’re right; I don’t care.” Byleth cut Hubert off, “Thanks for the info, gruesome.”

Hubert only snorted in response, turning away from Byleth and rejoining the rest of his classmates, leaving Byleth to fantasize about just lewd devilry he’d get up to with each girl...

Hooves stamping against the earth snapped Byleth out of his lustful trance. He hadn’t noticed Jeritza’s steed until he was practically atop of him. Byleth backed away to the rest of his class. The horse snorted out steam, looking just as vicious and cold-blooded as it’s rider, who’s towering figure blotted out the noon sun above, casting a menacing shadow across his students.

“Good luck.” Jeritza muttered down at them, plainly and bluntly, “You should be more than capable of taking both the lions and deer down with the boon of my tutelage. Remember, I’ll be watching.”

“Wait a second. You won’t be fighting with us, Professor Jeritza?” Caspar asked, seemingly disappointed at not being able to see his teacher’s full might in action, “Hanneman and Manuela are with their students, right? Why can’t you help us out?”

“We already have an extra contender in Byleth. All his years as a mercenary should more than match those two. Its only fair I sit this battle out.”

“Besides that, I’m fairy certain Professor Jeritza could topple all three houses at once… if he so desired.” Hubert cooed, looking up towards the professor with a wry smirk, “It’d hardly be sporting, in my opinion.”

Jeritza neither confirmed nor denied Hubert’s flattery. He simply grunted, pulling the reigns on his horse and trotting away from the battlefield. In his place, another horseman rode in from the opposite direction. Byleth recognized the thick orange tunic before he even got within thirty meters.

“Dad? What the hell are you doing here?” the young mercenary asked, watching his father ride directly up to the front of his class.

“I’ll be officiating this mock battle.” Jeralt grinned down, taking mental notes on all of Byleth’s classmates, “Hope that isn’t a problem, kid.”

“Aren’t people going to assume you’ll be giving the edge to your sons team?” Linhardt asked tartly, pulling Jeralt’s attention.

“Don’t worry. I’ll judge you guys extra harshly, if that’s whats bugging you.”

“Go ahead.” Byleth snorted, “Only way Dimitri or Claude would even have a chance.”

“Byleth… I’d think it best not to underestimate our opponents so readily.” Ferdinand chimed in, “Even if you are the most seasoned warrior on the field today, you still don’t know all our enemies are capable of.”

The young mercenary looked over to his dapper noble classmate, looking nonplussed as he ever was.

“Whatever you say, Fredrick.”

“It’s Ferdinand.” the young noble corrected, indignity slipping through his toothy, controlled smile, “Ferdinand von Aegir. Please remember it next time.”

Byleth was about to further mouth off to Ferdinand, wanting to see just how thoroughly he could crack the young nobles amicable shell before it shattered entirely. He was interrupted as a pegasus knight zipped overhead, it’s rider putting a horn to her lips and sounding it off, filling the field with it's call.

“That was our fifteen minute warning…” Edelgard explained to her classmates, knowing Caspar and Byleth would have forgotten it and Linhardt slept through that particular lecture.

“The second time it sounds off, the battle will begin.” Jeralt told the class, aiming his steed behind the pack of brats, where he’d get a better vantage of the area, “You kids best come up with a plan, and fast.”

Unfortunately for them, their rivals had already sprung into action. Both moved further towards the hillside– the Golden Deer fanned out and took refuge in a heavy cluster of woods, hiding them from view. The Blue Lions, on the other hand, took to a crumbled alter, setting up a tight formation with the marble ruins as it’s base.

Having both conceivable defensive positions swept from under them, the Black Eagles huddled together. Edelgard was quick to turn attentions towards their classes surly mercenary, “Well, Byleth? Whats our plan?”

Byleth blew out a heavy breath from his nose, “What, me? Aren’t you the freaking princess here? Why do I have to take charge?”

“Because you’re the one here with the most live combat experience, you dullard.” Hubert hissed at him with such venom Byleth half-expected to see a forked tongue come slithering past the pale man's lips.

“Hubert… we both now I don’t know what the fuck a dullard is.”

“It means you’re an idiot.” Hubert sighed, “And I’d suggest reading a book to remedy that, but that’d be a lost cause at this juncture, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Byleth shrugged, locking his hands behind his head.

“Come now, Byleth. Surely you must’ve picked up _some _techniques from fighting in your father’s company for all those years.” Edelgard insisted, “You could very well be the key to our victory… especially considering our professor dropped out of the battle.”

“Alright… here’s the plan… you clowns hang back, I’ll do all the fighting. I get a victory blowjob as an award for all my hard work. Sound good?”

Hubert relented with disturbing haste, “Fine, I can accept those terms. Bernedetta, come here and prepare to service Byleth. We all must make sacrifices for our glorious empire.”

“W-what?!” Bernedetta shrieked, hiding her tomato-red cheeks in both dainty hands, hiding behind Petra, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please, just leave me be!”

“No ones going to fellate anyone!” Ferdinand interjected, perhaps a bit too loudly, “Sex should only occur between two loving partners under matrimony. Anything less is-”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the choir, Francis.” Byleth yawned, interrupting him.

“It’s Ferdinand...” the noble grit out, looking to barely keep a lid on his quickly boiling temper, his previous agreeable self swiftly being overtaken with indignity.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough foolishness for one day.” Edelgard quickly wedged herself between them, “Please, Byleth. The only way we’re going to win this is if we all formulate a plan and work together...”

Grumbling, Byleth broke from their circle, eyes running over the other two teams, all of his past battles under his father’s leadership flashing through his mind… he studied the ruins, the small cluster of woods… and the steep hillside beyond them.

“Alright. I think I thought of something.” Byleth finally piped up, “They may have already holed up, but what’ll happen if we break their guards? Were are could they retreat to?”

“Nowhere. They have nothing except the hillside behind them, and if they break to either side, they’ll also be taking a nasty spill or running right into the other class.” Hubert smirked darkly, “A shrewd observation, Byleth. Though, I doubt your father will be pleased if you end up snapping another student’s neck during the tumble.”

“We’re not going to knock them of and kill ‘em. Just making sure they’re cornered.” Byleth said, bending over to trace a plan into the dirt, “Okay. How about this – we split into two teams. Team A is gonna spear through the Golden Deer, loop around, and attack the Blue Lions from behind. Team B’s job is to draw the Lions attention, hold the line, and wait for A to come around so we can catch ‘em in a pincer. Then when we capture the ruins, the Deer’ll have no choice but to come to us. Sound good?”

When Byleth looked up, he found numerous widened eyes and pleased faces aimed at him.

“...what?”

“Byleth… thats a rather solid strategy.” Edelgard commended him, “See? I knew you had it in you.”

“It’s just… well...” Dorothea started and couldn’t find the right words to finish.

“Frankly, we all thought you were kind’ve an idiot.” Linhardt added, “No offense.”

“I didn’t!” Caspar butted in.  
  
“I didn’t believe as well.” Petra smiled.

“I did.” Hubert cut off the praise, “Although I didn’t exactly make that a secret, did I? Anyhow, I see one key flaw in your plan – how you expect to so easily break Claude’s defenses? Hes a tricky one. I doubt hes only using the woods for cover. I’d be expecting ambushes if I were you.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” Byleth muttered, gesturing over to Petra, “Besides. We’ve got a pro hunter with us. I’m sure Petra can outmaneuver that cocky bastard.”

“Oh. I’m feeling much flattery.” Petra giggled, a tinge of red sprouting across her cheeks.

“Just know that if this doesn’t work, the failure will be squarely on _your _shoulders.” Hubert spat.

It was Dorothea that split Byleth and Hubert apart, “Okay, okay. Thats enough bickering. Theres no reason to fight. Now, how are we gonna divide up the teams?”

“An excellent question, Dorothea.” Edelgard nodded towards the commoner girl, then to the mercenary, “Byleth? Any ideas?”

Humming, foot taping against the ground, Byleth pointed at each of his classmates in succession, “Alright. Team A will be… me, Edelgard, Dorothea, Petra, and Bernie. Team B is Ferdinand, Hubert, Caspar and Linhardt. Any questions?”

“No.” Hubert spat, “You demented dog. We’re not letting you decide something so important just so you can show off your skills to the girls. What sort of results would we get by splitting teams up for such a ridiculous reason? Please, try to utilize your brain more often… for all of our sakes.”

Byleth kept his grumbles to himself. He looked towards the girls. Bernedetta was hiding behind Petra and Dorothea as per usual, with the commoner girl looking a tad more anxious than the cool foreign princess. His eyes went over to Edelgard, one brow cocked, arms folded over her chest.

“You wanna pick?” Byleth shrugged, “Cuz I think I’ve done enough planning for one day. At this point I just wanna kick some ass.”

“...fine. I’ll decide, since I’m familiar with all of our strengths and weaknesses.” the princess finally relented, “Ferdinand, you’re with me. We’ll hold the front line together. Hubert, Linhardt, and Bernedetta can support us from behind.”

Byleth figured she would divide them as such. Hubert and Bernie could draw the Lion’s attentions and provide valuable support fire, Linhardt provide healing, and Ferdinand’s excellent lance skills would hold any attackers at bay. However, she must’ve been confident in her own staying power to recommend holding the line with some pompous idiot who would more likely than not try to one-up her on the field and jeopardized the mission.

On the other hand, Petra was a natural hunter and at home with thick woods, so the Deer’s choice of cover would do little to halt her advance. Dorothea knew a bit of both reason and faith magic, and her sword skills were only so-so. Despite that, with the backing of her teammates, she could easily cover any area they were faltering in and adapt to Claude’s tricky tactics. And Caspar was a numbskull, but he was a strong and resilient numbskull, and was just a few steps behind Byleth in his ability to pierce enemy lines with sheer grit and ferocity. And Byleth supposed Caspar could make a decent enough meatshield if things went south.

“Alright then. Any objections?” Edelgard asked, making sure everyone was clear on the plan.

“None. Let us be praying for victory.” Petra responded crisply, a competitive glint in her eyes.

“I’m just going to pray I won’t die...” Bernie muttered, staring towards the shade of a nearby tree, wanting nothing more than to dive into the shadow and vanish within it.

“Lethal force is strictly prohibited. We already discussed this.” Hubert chided her, but quickly turned the tongue-lashing towards Byleth, “That means _stopping _when your opponent is knocked out or otherwise unable to mount further resistance.”

“I know. You really think I’m gonna go and bash someones skull in with this dumbass stick?” Byleth said, waggling around the wooden blade in his hand.

“Who could possible predict what a maniac like you would do? You haven’t displayed any other measure of self-control. Well, beyond your refusal to remove that little detached scowl you keep on at all hours of the day.”

Byleth just snorted, tucked his thumbs into his belt, and looked the other way, “Whatever, gruesome.”

Edelgard settled her hands on her hips, watching her teammates continue to bicker with an unsettled frown. Yet, deep down, she knew they could accomplish anything if they put their minds to the task. A cool wind blew by, and the princess turned her focus to the Blue Lions, wondering just what they were planning as they settled within those crumbling pillars.

* * *

“Alright, your majesty... hows this? I run in and draw the Black Eagles attention by firing off a few arrows. I run back here, where you and Dedue can hit my pursuer’s open flank?”

The Blue Lions sat in a circle in the middle of the ruined chapel, with only Hanneman peaking out fro behind and crumbled pillar towards their competition. Ashe was in the center, taking a knee before Dimitri, scribbling across an old piece of parchment the Lions were using to plan their strategy.

“That won’t be necessary, Ashe.” Dimitri eased his earnest companion, “The Black Eagles will be forced to take an offense role in this battle. The best we can do is hold the line and wait until they tire themselves out. That will be the optimum moment to strike.”

“Do you think they'll attack us, or the Deer first?” Anette asked.

“Hard to say.” Dimitri huffed, one of his fingers running along the yellow dots taking the parchment’s left side, “If they do decide to attack Claude first, we’’ll send an advance party to catch both of them off guard and retreat before they can properly respond.”

“No matter the case, we need to remain cautious.” Hanneman advised his students, pacing over to them, “That Byleth fellow has an unknown crest… and a powerful one, at that. I still haven’t fully deciphered it’s true nature, yet I can guarantee it makes him a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yes. And it isn’t just Byleth we need to fret over.” Dimitri added, “Edelgard is far stronger than she appears. And her confidant Hubert is not only a skilled practitioner of dark magic, but I’ve heard hes rather crafty and can be underhanded when the situation calls for it.”

Snorting, Felix turned his head away from the Black Eagles, turning over to the Golden Deer’s hiding place, “Fantastic. He’s not the only tricky bastard we need to deal with, though.”

* * *

“...you really sure this isn’t cheating, Claude?”

“Sure I’m sure, Raph. Just keep pulling...”

Claude and Rapheal, each with two thick vines in each of their hands, gave a final tug and set their makeshift ramparts into place, blocking the only clear path through the dense foliage.

“Ahem.” Lorenz loudly cleared his throat, ringing in the attention of his two classmates, “Please Claude, enlighten us to how exactly erecting traps and barriers before the match begins is sporting?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Claude cheered with an impish wink, knocking the dust from his hands, “See, I combed the rule book over and over… and it said we’re disqualified only if we bring in outside weapons or tools. Nothings there to say we can’t utilize ol’ mother nature to our advantage… fortunately, the vines that grow around here are thick enough to use as rope. An invasive species from Brigid, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I see.” Lorenz groaned, face hidden in one of his pale palms, “I take it there was also nothing technically illegal about coming out and making all of these in the week before the actual battle began?”

“Correct again. Nothing to say we couldn’t scout out the field beforehand… and try out some new woodcarving techniques while we were at it.”

Ignatz, just finished tightening the vine’s around the barrier's back, looped around to join the rest of his classmates, “I have to say...” he took a moment to wipe the sweat from the lenses of his thick spectacles, “I’m a little impressed you managed to set all this up in so little time.”

From atop a stump, merrily kicking her legs out and staring aimlessly towards the sky, Hilda chimed in, “Well, he did have a _little _help from Leonie.”

“Yeah. I know.” Claude huffed, “You could’ve helped too, Hilda. Without forcing me to do a month of chores in return.”

“Sorry. I really don’t care about winning this silly little mock battle all that much.” Hilda sighed, playing with the training axe in her dainty hand, hefting it about with deceptive strength, “Why did we have to set up in this gross forest anyway? Its nice and shady I guess, but all these nasty bugs and poisonous plants… yuck.”

“Bringing the topic back to Leonie – where is she anyway?” Lorenz asked, looking around, finding only Claude, Hilda, Ignatz and Rapheal, “And every one else for that matter?”

“Well, Leoine’s putting some finished touches on a few traps. Professor Manuela's setting up base in some cozy little cabin near the back of the woods. Besides that, Lystheia and Marianne should getting into position right about now.” Claude explained.

Keeping his stiff upper lip, Lorenz went on, “Thats all fine and good, but we-”

A horn blared, it’s echo bouncing through the trees all around them.

“Well.” Claude whistled, bright and eager to prove his worth, “Looks like it’s time to party.”

* * *

Wyverns and peagsi rushed overhead – and with the horns sounding, Byleth wasted no time. He spun towards the woods and rushed towards the enemy, boots tramping the grass and dandelions below.

“W-whoa! Wait for me!”

Byleth spared a small glance over his shoulder. Caspar fumbled with his wooden axe and was quick to sling it over his back and take off after him. Dorothea blinked in surprise, taking a few moments longer to pursue. However, to his delight, Petra was already at his side.

“Whoa, whoa. Eager, aren’t we?” Byleth shot her a cheesy smirk as Petra hustled to his side, “You a fangirl of mine?”

“E-eager? And what is a ‘_fangirl_’?”

Byleth bravado drained from his like a popped balloon, tiny smirk morphing back into a small frown, “It means you’ve got the hots for me.”

“Hots? The weather in Fόdlan is cold, is it not?”

“What the hell are you – fuck it.” Byleth sighed, just barely returning his attention back to his mad dash in time to hop over an incoming root that would’ve surely tripped him, “I can teach you all about Fόdlan’s language. Just you and me. Sound good?”

“Oh! I’d be enjoying that greatly.” Petra smiled, “For now, let us be turning our focus towards the battle.”

Byleth, Petra, and Caspar breached the treeline, Dorothea not far behind. Across the field, Edelgard stood by Ferdinand, her concerned gaze on Byleth’s back, even as Hubert’s dark magic and Bernedetta’s wooden arrows zipped over her head, chipping at the Blue Lion’s defensive line.

“Please. Don’t make me regret putting my faith in you...”

* * *

“It appears as though the Eagles are trying to take on two houses at once!” Hanneman muttered, giving his well-groomed mustache a few thoughtful strokes, “A bold move indeed.”

The professor, Dimitri and Felix were crouched behind one of the fallen marble pillars at the base of the ruins. Momentarily, they were so stunned by the foolhardy tactical choice, they didn’t register the sizzling orbs of dark magic or wooden arrows before they were landing all around their position.

“My word!” Hanneman cried, one of Hubert’s miasma’s sizzling right by his ear, forcing him to duck lower.

“The hell are those idiots thinking?” Felix snorted, using his dummy blade to knock away one of Bernie’s arrows, “They’re going to get crushed.”

* * *

The small cluster of trees the Deer were taking shelter in was relatively small, only a few meters squared, but they were thick and difficult to penetrate. Byleth hopped from root to root, ripping away vines, eyes darting to anywhere the enemy could be lurking.

“Use caution.” Petra said, coming up from behind him, “Look – a person has traveled here.”

The Brigid princess motioned for him to move lower, and so he did. They found a snapped twig, compressed leaves… and the trail led deeper. Caspar finally caught up with them, and a sweaty Dorothea not to later, knocking the leaves off her uniform.

“Wait. It is dangerous to continue..” Petra cautioned.

“Huh? Watcha talkin’ about, Petra?” Caspar asked, brow cocked, “I don’t see anything dangerous.”

Byleth’s stony eyes raced across the dense foliage before them. He reached out with his sword, prodding around. He poked underneath a low-hanging branch, taping an inconspicuous bed of leaves. A sudden crunch, and the leaves and sticks below fell into an impressively deep pitfall.

Byleth clicked his tongue, “What the shit. Is that even legal?”

The four Black Eagles looked through the treetops, up to a wyvern rider officiating the match, hovering above them. Although any shouted words would be lost between them under the beat of the great lizard’s wings, he clearly understood what they were puzzled over. He took a moment to think it over, and eventually shot them down a thumbs-up.

“Great. Looks like it was.” Dorothea huffed, “We should’ve come out here before the match.”

“Yeah. Built a fort or something!” Caspar cheered.

“Sorry. I wouldn’t waste any of my time erecting Castle Dumbass just for this stupid mock battle.” Byleth acidly spat, “Now come on. We’ll just have to be more careful and-”

Snaps and crunches rang out through the woods. Byleth ducked his head, hearing a wooden arrow whiz by his ear, bouncing off a tree behind him. Not a moment later, the massive man he saw with the Golden Deer came hurtling towards them. Rapheal. He had both ham-sized fists raised, and Byleth didn't want to find out what it'd look like if they came down on a skull.

“Shit…!”

Byleth rolled on his shoulder, just barely avoiding the hulking brute’s blow. With his wooden training gauntlets equipped, he easily smashed through the low-hanging branch before Byleth. Just as the mercenary got back to his feet, he grunted as another arrow flew from the foliage and bounced painfully off his shoulder.

“Dorothea! Petra! Get behind me.” he ordered, deflecting yet another projectile with his sword, half his attention still on the raging mountain of muscles stomping towards him.

“What about me?” Caspar sputtered, excitedly bouncing on his heels.

“Be a meatshield.” Byleth ordered, hoping between Rapheal and the line of fire, stabbing at the huge man to keep him at bay.

“Don’t have recklessness.” Petra clumsily reprimanded him, “We must uncover the archer!”

The supporting fire shifted, and wooden arrows were now flying at them from the side. Grunting, pulling back his sword as Rapheal tried to grab at it, “Alright. Caspar-”

Byleth was nearly blown back as the little scraper rushed forward before hearing his orders, tackling Rapheal with his full weight. Surprisingly, the far larger man hit the dirt, and furiously thrashed as Caspar pressed the shaft of his training axe against his throat to keep him pinned.

“Go take out the archer! I’ll handle the big guy!”

The mercenary had a half a mind to throw a snide comment at Caspar about how he had something to prove. In all honesty, he was rather impressed he was still keeping Rapheal down. Not wasting the opportunity, he motioned for Dorothea and Petra to follow him.

“C’mon. We’re gonna need to take out who ever’s firing at us if we’re gonna get outta here.”

* * *

“Crap. T-they’re coming for us…”

Hidden behind thick shrubbery not too far away, Ignatz and Leonie lowered their bows, seeing they couldn’t get in any good shots on Byleth, Petra, or Dorothea behind them. And like Ignatz had said, they were rapidly approaching.

“You go ahead and fall back, Ignatz. I wanna see just what Captain Jeralt’s son is made of...”

Ignatz looked over to see Leoine put away her bow and raise a wooden lance, stepping out to challenge their foes. He saw a flame sparking in her eyes. A dangerous one that could make all of their chances for victory go up in smoke.

“Claude told us to both to fall back if they got past the pitfall and Rapheal! Don’t do anything that’ll cost us the match, Leonie.”

Stiffing up, Leonie shot the Ashen Demon a final glance – Byleth, the son of her mentor and hero. And to her shock, he was already upon them. He surged forward, breaching through the thick brush and landing in front of she and Ignatz.

“Hold up there.” Byleth huffed, aiming his sword at her chest, “...tomboys. Tomboys are good too...”

“What are you talking about?” Leoine backed up a tad, grip on her spear tightening, “You’re Captain Jeralt’s kid, aren’t you? I’ve been dying to meet you – see if you’re made of the same stuff the captain is.”

Byleth sauntered forward, a hungry glint in his eye, “Ohhh… then lets find somewhere private, just you and me, and we can-”

“Nows not the time, big guy.” Dorothea scolded him, tugging Byleth back by the ear.

Leonie’s lance drooped, a sour expression crossing her tanned face, “What the hell are you on about, you creep? Are you seriously hitting on me in the middle of a battle? There’s no way you’re related to the captain!”

“Hey, I can’t believe it either.” Byleth huffed, breaking away from Dorothea and rubbing his sore earlobe, “Okay, how about a little deal – one-on-one. Winner has to do whatever the loser says for a whole week.”

“In your dreams.” Leonie grunted, dropping her lance and drawing her bow once more, “And don’t think I’m not going to have a word with the captain about this…!”

As she grunted out the words, Leonie drew back a wooden arrow. Petra and Dorothea took a defensive stance behind Byleth, who raised his blade, ready to intercept. Just before her fingers left the string, Leonie aimed higher, over their heads and towards a tree behind them.

Byleth spun on his heel, sharp eyes following the arrow before it hit a thin vine. And that thin vine was holding up a heavy bundle of sticks and dirt. The debris nearly fell atop the Black Eagles, and Byleth just barely had time to grab Dorothea before leaping out of the way. Petra was already of him. They all crashed to the leafy ground, and by the time they got back to their feet, Leonie and Ignatz were already fleeing deeper into the woods.

“We don’t have the time to go after them.” Dorothea figured, “Come on, lets get a move on.”

“Yes. Edelgard requires our aid.” Petra nodded in swift agreement, “Caspar may meet with us a later time.”

Byleth grunted, someone disappointed he couldn’t discipline that rowdy tomboy with an odd fixation on his father. That must’ve been whatever Hubert was hinting at. More importantly, Edelgard and the rest of his classmates would be furious if he screwed up his own plan with any reckless, unneeded pursuit.

He took a step forward, and an arrow whizzed by his cheek, catching in some thick bramble. On it, Byleth saw scrap of white cloth unfurl like a scroll from the arrows shaft, revealing a crude drawing of Claude planting his foot up the ass of a blue-haired man Byleth instantly recognize as himself.

The Ashen Demon turned, seeing Claude’s unmistakable smirk hidden deeper in the bush. He threw Byleth a mock salute, flipped him the bird, then retreated.

“That son of a bitch...” Byleth snapped lowly, fingers tightening into a fist, “I’ll show him.”

“Byleth, please! Fighting Claude was not included in the plan!” Petra begged, reaching out for him..

“Seriously, Byleth! We don’t have time to lose!”

Both girls pleas fell on deaf ears. Not one to take any insult sitting down, especially in front of two cute girls, Byleth dashed right into enemy territory to pay Claude back. Dorothea could only watch the sleeves of his coat flap behind him as he left, disbelief writ across her face.

“Something tells me that guys gonna be a real pain in the ass.”

* * *

It was only after a minute of pursuing Claude did Byleth realize how foolish he was acting by breaking rank to answer Claude’s provocation's. Edelgard would already likely be furious with him. However, he knew it was too late to turn back empty-handed at that point.

A small clearing came into view, a sheepish Claude at the center.

“Hey. Sorry ‘bout that, buddy. You’re not going to kick my ass, are you? I’m a schemer, not a fighter.”

“...”

“Yeesh. It was a joke, buddy. Not even a smile?”

Not smiling and still saying nothing Byleth stomped forward. He approached the clearing, and felt something tug at his ankle right before he entered. He felt the world spin around, the wind rush around him, and suddenly, he found an upside-down Claude smirking wickedly at him.

“Sorry, buddy. Alls fair in love and war, right?”

Byleth looked around, finding everything upturned… then it dawned on him. He craned his neck and peered towards his foot, caught in a snare made from the thick vines Claude so far implemented in his little pitfalls.

“Hmm… perhaps I’ve overestimated the Ashen Demon’s intelligence. To fall for such a simple trap is quite pitiful, really.”

Slowly rotating about, Byleth saw the other Golden Deer. The tall noble with the tacky haircut, wearing a snide smile that made Byleth want to slam his elbow into his sharp nose.

Stone-faced, Byleth spat down at him, “Fuck you.”

“How uncouth. What a foul mouth.” Lorenz snorted, turning to Claude, “I’ll have to congratulate Leonie later. Her hunting skills really are second to none.” the big-headed noble chortled obnoxiously, further stoking the flames of Byleth’s fury, like magma bubbling beneath a glacier.

“Though, I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled to know this was all it took to beat Jeralt’s son.” Claude whistled, pulling back a dummy arrow and taking aim at the young merc’s head, “Sorry, bud. I’ll try and make this nice and quick… if you want a clean knockout, don’t try to resist.”

Totally against Claude’s advice, Byleth did try to resist. He raised his forearms, blocking the first shot. Clicking his tongue, Claude fired rapidly, hitting Byleth as easily as a fish in a barrel. Sweat poured down the merc’s forehead, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand the assault for much longer. Even under the thick leather of his gauntlet’s he felt his bones rattling under the force of the arrows.

“Thats quite enough, Claude.” Lorenz finally interrupted after the seventh shot, pushing Claude’s bow down, “Your shallow maneuvers and mediocre archery obviously aren’t enough. I’ll finish this myself.”

Lorenz rushed towards Byleth, lance raised. With his wiry frame in the way, Claude was forced to cease his assault. Even Claude talk him down, Lorenz was before Byleth with his lance ready to thrust.'' The mercenary sucked in a quick breath. He couldn’t have asked a better opportunity to make his escape. He may have been hung up in a tree like a petrified rabbit, but he was far from helpless or afraid.

Byleth did a simple sit up, grabbing a hold of the vines that ensnared his ankle and dodging Lorenz’s training lance. He may not have been able to tear through the thick vines with his bare hands. Despite that, he was just strong enough to pull off another trick. He slammed both fists into the trunk as hard as he possibly could, and it splintered upon impact. He and the branch both fell, right behind the confused Lorenz.

Seizing his advantage, Byleth kicked at the back of the tall noble’s knee. Lorenz hissed, almost toppling over before the young merc caught him in a headlock. Struggling to keep his poker face from bursting into a smile, Byleth squeezed with enough pressure on Lorenz to keep him starved of oxygen and unable to break free. His snowy skin went blue, and the practice lance slipped from his fingers. Byleth carefully advanced, branch still tied to his ankle and dragging behind him. Byleth scooped up the dummy sword he had dropped on the way.

Claude grimaced, firing his arrow. Instead of leaning his head to dodge, Byleth instead shifted Lorenz in the way, letting the arrow bounce right off his forehead, leaving a nasty, bleeding welt.

“A human shield? I may pull my fair share of tricks, but that’s pretty low, Byleth…”

“Sorry, buddy… all’s fair in love and war, right!?”

Byleth shoved Lorenz forward. The dizzy noble stumbled right into Claude. The latter was forced to push the former away and onto the ground to avoid both crumbling into a pile. In doing so, he dropped his guard for just one fatal second. Byleth slammed his sword into Claude’s head, knocking the trickster clean out. He turned to Lorenz, trying to struggle to his feet, and did the same.

“Serves you bastards right...”

The Ashen Demon huffed for fresh air, shaking his leg free, feeling a swelling sense of pride as he towered above the slumped bodies of Claude and Lorenz. There were still many more Golden Deer to take care of, and Byleth nearly slapped himself to ignore them and keep his priorities in check. The merc’s head jerked towards the afternoon sunlight came pouring in from between the trees. Before hunting down the rest of the Deer, he needed to slay the Lions.

“Oh. Crap. You’re pretty tough, aren’t you?”

Byleth’s head snapped over to a familiar girl. Hilda. She was even cuter up close, even as she stared at him like he was a blood-soaked beast. Byleth started towards her. She quickly dropped her axe and raised her hands in the air, a universal show of surrender.

“What? You seriously giving up that easy?” the merc snorted, “Not that I’m complaining. I don’t like having to beat on pretty girls.”

“What a gentleman.” Hilda giggled, the sarcasm laced in her words going unnoticed by Byleth, “Well, yeah. I don’t like to fight. Like, at all. And I don’t really care who wins some stupid mock battle. In fact, I love it when guys let me off easy. You deserve a reward, so...”

“So…?”

Hilda bent forward, ever so slightly. Just enough to make sure her heavy breasts swayed a tad. Byleth’s felt his throat go dry, wanting nothing more than to tear through the flimsy fabric that surrounded those lovely tits and wrap his lips around them-

In a smooth and swift movement, Hilda scooped up her axe and swung it at Byleth’s head. The mercenary doubled back, feeling the wooden blade scrap against his forehead. He was so shocked he dropped his sword and fell to his ass.

And to further add to his befuddlement, instead of capitalizing on her advantage, Hilda gifted him a sheepish smile and wave, already backing away.

“Sorry. The rest of my class would give me an earful if I didn’t take at least a _tiny _swing at you. Catch you later…?”

She vanished into the trees before he could answer. Grunting, Byleth hopped back to his feet, hoping it wasn’t too late to complete the pincer he would be so grossly late for.

* * *

Edelgard let out a loud grunt of exertion. She pushed with all her might, and against what any might have bet, she sent the massive Dedue stumbling away from her. Dedue's wide, unguarded chest was all the purchase Hubert needed. He fired a Miasma at the giant, and with a burst of purple and black smoke, Dedue toppled over. Edelgard panted, hopping to the side, just barely avoiding another shot of Wind from Professor Hanneman, still nested up in the ruins. Adrenaline racing, she did her best to recount her odds.

Ferdinand did well to holding back the Lions initial attack, even managing to knock out Sylvain. It was his eagerness to outdo Edelgard eventually sunk him. pushing a bit to far, having his lance arm taken out by a fireball from Anette, then swiftly crushed by Ingrid. Bernedetta did her best to provide cover fire. Unfortunately, her nonexistent fortitude was her downfall. A wayward wooden arrow striking her elbow was all it took for her too panic and forfeit the battle. Linhardt was also down for the count. He did provide valuable healing for a bit, right until Ashe slipped behind them and knocked him out with a well-placed blow to the back of the head, retreating before he was caught.

Edelgard rolled behind a lone tree, feeling the bark chip away as another gust of wind struck her cover. Team B had come – sans Byleth and Caspar, their heavy hitters. Petra and Dorothea had managed to take out Anette and Mercedes, Felix’s peerless swordsmanship took down Dorothea, forcing Petra to flee. The princess grit her teeth together. Her first battle with her classmates, and their chances couldn’t be growing any slimmer. She had no idea what shape the Deer were in, and the Lions still had almost half their team remaining.

The princess let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. A shadow rushed over her. Ingrid had sprung, having snuck in from behind. Just as she thought the lance was about to come down, she found Hubert’s slim back slid before her. She heard a sharp crack of bones as the lance connected. She didn't let the sickly sound shake her. She reared her axe back, and as Hubert ducked down, she brought it forward and knocked Ingrid out with a single powerful blow. As the blonde girl hit the grass, Edelgard turned her worried gaze to Hubert. He was keeled over, sweat glistening across his pale skin. His off-hand dangled limply at his side, and his usually terrifying face was twisted up in pain.

“Hubert... you need to...”

“No. Please, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert grit out, in clear agony, “I can still fight…!”

Edelgard’s heart thumped faster. Hubert was slipping, what little in his eyes flickering away. He’d pass out sooner rather than later – and she heard boots thumping towards her. Edelgard picked up her axe, spinning around to meet Dimitri stalking towards her, lance at the ready.

“Edelgard… lets see which one of us is stronger, shall we?”

The princess nodded, but she knew it was all over. Even is she did overcome Dimitri, there’d be no way she’d have the energy to take on the rest of the Lions, not to mention the Deer. Their strategy had failed utterly-

Then, like a gifto from the heavens, she saw him. A flash of black and blue emerging from the woods.

* * *

The Lions seemed sure of victory. Byleth would be sure to snatch the rug out from under them. He rushed up behind the ruins, ready to ascend the cracked marble stairway…

“Thats far enough, Ashen Demon.”

Byleth slid to a halt, Felix coming out from behind a pillar to bar his path. Not a moment later, Ashe rolled behind the mercenary, taking aim with his bow. Just like that, Byleth found himself pinched.

Ashe spat out, “Give up, Ashen Demon. It’s two against one! You can’t-”

To Byleth’s astonishment, a beaten and bloodied Caspar ran up from behind, tacking Ashe to the ground, looking two breaths away from the grave, but still able to wrestle the more scraggly boy into submission.  
  
Byleth had half a mind to push his jaw back into into place, just in case it was hanging limp. It hardly seemed possible Caspar overcame that hulking brute, even by the slimmest margin – yet there he was, putting a squirming Ashe into a brutal armbar.

Just as stunned, Felix never saw Petra blindside him. The girl from Brigid attacked relentlessly, forcing the superior swordman on his back foot from the sheer ferocity. Byleth felt excitement surge in his gut. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity his classmates provided him. He rushed up into the ruins, finding Hanneman at the peak.

“Well… it appears I’m in a bit of a pickle. Just don’t expect me to just roll over and-”

Byleth silenced the blowhard with a hard hook right into his gut. The old professor sputtered, collapsing to the ground. It may have been a cheap shot, but Byleth had no more time left to piss away playing with his opponents.

Edelgard and Dimitri were locked in a furious struggle, Hubert already passed out and lying to the side. Gritting his teeth, Byleth burst out the mouth of the old temple, planting both feet on a fallen pillar and sliding down the ancient marble until his boots kissed the grass.

Charging towards both the nobles, Byleth threw a flying knee right into Dimitri’s back. The blonde prince sputtered, knocked away from Edelgard, skidding through the grass and Byleth righted himself.

“That was cheap shot, Byleth.” Dimitri snarled as he marched back towards them, “I won’t stand down… prepare yourself!”

“Edelgard, go get Petra and Caspar! I’ll handle this bastard!” Byleth raised his voice, standing dauntless before the furious prince. Edelgard nodded quickly, taking her axe and circumventing the ruins, leaving the mercenary and prince to their duel.

Dimitri was no pampered noble, and Byleth learned it the hard way. His experience hadn’t been relegated solely to training; he had most certainly tasted blood before. And he didn’t just improve his skills because it was what was expected of him. With each strike he parried, Byleth sensed a dark hunger from the prince. Every stroke of his lance sliced through the air like it was intended as a killing blow.

Lance and sword flew like cyclones, neither man managing to score a decisive blow against his opponent, despite both also having a highly aggressive style. Byleth striked relentlessly, not allowing Dimitri to utilize his lance’s superior range. Despite the setback, Dimitri bit the grindstone and chocked his grip down on his lance.

After parrying an overhead swing, Dimitri slammed his weapon’s shaft into Byleth’s unguarded chest. The mercenary stumbled and was quick to recuperate, slamming his blade fiercely into Dimitir’s shoulder. Grunting, denied his chance to gain distance, struck the side of Byleth’s head with his elbow. Byleth retaliated with knee to the gut.

The men broke away, panting, no words needing to be said. The battle had long sapped them of strength, and their ferocious duel left them both teetering on the edge of exhaustion. The sun beat down between them, fierce winds whipping around their heaving bodies. High above, watching with baited breath, countless flying warriors circled above – and on Byleth, the expecting gaze of father and princess alike.

Dimitri charged with a mighty roar, catching Byleth completely off guard when he threw his lance like a javelin. The mercenary side-stepped it easily enough – but he was caught with his defense lowered, and Dimitri was a few steps away, fist raised into the air.

Byleth grit his teeth, dropped his sword, and swung in turn.

The world flashed white, and Byleth could taste blood pooling in his mouth. His knees shook, and he was going dizzy. And yet, above it all, he allowed himself to smile as he watched Dimitiri crumble before he did, landing flat on his broken nose.

“Not bad. Its been a long time since… someones made me work for…”  
  
Before he could finish, Byleth’s tongue went numb and stopped wagging. The Ashen Demon tipped over, landing right beside Dimitri, the head trauma finally knocking him out.

* * *

“Oh. So, you beat down some rowdy children. I bet you’re _very _proud of yourself.”

Byleth had lost count how many times – and he found himself having an audience with Sothis in her throne room all the same, still suffocated by that same endless dark. Although, a new energy seemed to envolpe the room, and tiny flecks of gold floated about like fireflies.

“Maybe I am.” he replied icily, tucking his thumbs into his belt.

“Hmph.” Sothis reclined further into her seat, “Well. Don’t grow a big head just because you seized victory for your class. I’m sure they’ll be expecting much of you from now on. Try not to abuse that power.”

“What good is power if you don’t use it?”

“Ah… such a foolish child.” Sothis shook her head to both sides, “I suppose its up to me to keep you line.”

“You’re not my mother.” Byleth huffed, turning his head away.

“All the same,” Sothis cheered, smirking, leaning forward in her throne, “I think it’s about time you _woke up._..”

* * *

“Byleth… Byleth! Are you awake, kid?”

Groaning and blinking, Byleth suddenly found himself in his undergarments, underneath silken sheets, bandaged head sunken into an unfamiliar pillow. And yet, the scent of medicinal herbs and cheap wine... Byleth realized he was in the sick room just as recognized the woman’s voice. Professor Manuela sat over him, and she was a sight for his sore eyes.

“Hey.” Byleth whispered gently up to her, “How long have I been out?"

“Just a day – and even with my treatments, I have to say, you heal remarkably quickly.” Manuela grumbled out, scribbling something down at a desk by his side, “By the way, that class leader of yours sure is a feisty one. Nearly made a patient in my own sickbay-”

Byleth ignored her ramblings, deep blue eyes locking in on the soft flesh of her breasts that peaked out form the side of her dress. Licking his dry lips, Byleth reached out his hungry hands to cop a feel. And in that same instant, Manuela pulled out a riding crop, lashing it against Byleth’s wiggling fingers, leaving several painful bruises.

“Hands to yourself, you little pervert.” she growled, a vein on her forehead throbbing.

“Some bedside manners...” Byleth hissed, holding his hand close to his chest, “What the hell was that for? Its not like I haven’t felt them up before.”

“Yeah? Well, that was before I learned about what kind’ve a man you were.”

“Huh?” Byleth was quite confused, remembering that Manuela seemed even more eager for his cock than he was to shove it into her snatch.

The older woman looked incredibly crossed, “Don’t play dumb… I know your game. Running around, playing with women’s hearts? That ring a bell?”

“I- what?”

Manuela huffed, grabbing her materials and sitting up from stool at Byleth side. She stared at him like a breathing piece of garbage, unsettling him on some primordial level.

“I wanted to settle down with a man I could call my husband one day. Not some lowlife punk who can’t keep it in his pants. I hope you enjoyed that little romp we had... it won’t be happening again.”

Byleth had no clue what to say, and was just wise enough not to argue back in fear of angering her further. He still was aching all over, and his head was still tender and wrapped up in bandages. He settled on watching her rump shake as she stormed out, heels clicking loudly with each angry step.

“Great…” Byleth sighed, suddenly finding himself bored and alone, not even Sothis to keep him company, “Just fantastic.”

He looked about and around, soon growing bored of eyeballing the model skeleton in the corner. Just as he was about to take a nap to pass the time, he heard a soft knocking on the door.

“Byleth… are you awake?” he heard Edelgard’s soft voice coming from the other side.

“Yep.”

The old door creaked open – and she looked like an absolute angel as the light from the window behind him filtered in, shining across her silky hair like glistening snow. Byleth was just glad to have a pretty girl to soothe his spirits.

“I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“Thanks, Edelgard. By the way, did we win the battle?”

Nervousness pooled in Byleth’s gut when the princess’s expression remained still and cold. Then, as quickly as a puddle under the summer sun, his fear evaporated when Edelgard allowed herself to crack a tiny grin.

“Just barely. After you and Dimitri knocked each other out, it was just me, Petra, and Caspar. When we finally cornered the Golden Deer, it was down to Lysethia and I, and I just barely managed to defeat her.”

Despite how she said it with pride, Byleth could detect worry in her voice.  
  
“…Professor Manuela is an excellent teacher. On the other hand, her military sense is sorely lacking, I’m afraid.” the princess went on with a sigh, “If Claude was there to rally the remainder of his class, us final three would’ve surely been crushed.”

Byleth felt relief flood his best, “Oh? So you’re not mad at me for breaking rank and taking him out?”

Edelgard planted her feet to the floor, now looking like a stern older sister, “Of course I am! If you hadn’t gone after him to settle some petty insult, our pincer might’ve actually beaten the Blue Lions, and we hadn’t have lost most of our team before fighting the Golden Deer!”

“Hey, hey. It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

Edelgard grit out her next angry words, “If that had been a real battle, most of our forces would’ve been demolished. I’d have been the only survivor of the operation. Does that sound like a victory to you?”

Byleth chewed her words for a moment, then solemnly shook his head, “No. I guess not.”

“I'm pleading with you... try harder to control yourself from now on. You’re the strongest member of our class, but you’re not the only one in it.” Edelgard sighed, “It doesn’t matter how strong a single link is – we must all do our part to form an unbreakable chain.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” the Ashen Demon mumbled, sinking his sore head deeper into his pillow, “...so, would this be a bad time to ask for that victory blowjob?”

Edelgard let out a deep sigh, cradling her forehead in one gloved hand.

“You’re nothing if not a persistent one, aren’t you Byleth?”


	7. Familiar Scenery

**-Harpstring Moon-**

* * *

**In honor of the saints whose births or deaths took place under this moon, the people preform music once beloved by those divine beings. Whether by harp, flute, or voice alone, joyous melodies are shared between farmers as they sow their seeds across the vast plains of Tailten and Grondor.**

* * *

**5/4/1180**

* * *

“Finally! Took you long enough to show up.”

Byleth remained silent, carefully studying his father’s office. Neater than he would have pictured. He supposed his father wouldn’t have had the time to add his own personal flair to the place, considering the old knight captain stepped down just a couple of weeks earlier.

“Well, got any excuses you wanna throw at me?” Jeralt muttered, breaking eye contact with his son to lean forward in his chair, reaching underneath his desk to dig around for something.

“Nah.” Byleth replied, hearing wood slid against rusty hinges as his father unsealed a secret compartment of some sort, “Just had other things to do.”

“See, thats why I told you to show up so early. I knew you’d goof off and show up a few hours late. So technically, you’re right on time.”

“Very clever.” Byleth snorted, “What the hell are you doing down there, old man?”

“Just cracking my old cache open. Luckily, looks like no one found it...” Jeralt chuckled, emerging with a dusty bottle of rum, his thick fingers already tugging at the cork, “So. How are you dealing with school?”

"Okay, I guess.”

Jeralt finally popped open the cork with a flick of his thumb, sending it flying over Byleth’s shoulder. The young merc’s hand shot up, catching the cork, his head swimming a tad from merely sniffing it. If there was one thing respected off his father, it was his indomitable liver.

“Really? I thought chucking you into a pack of noble brats might’ve been a bit much for you to handle.” Jeralt said, pouring himself a bit of the dark liquid into his open flask, “You never had much human contact outside of laying swooning village girls and eviscerating bandits, did you?”

“Guess not.”

“Mmm… well, I’m glad you’re adjusting well.” Jeralt tossed back a shot of the nearly toxic brew, “As for me, it’ll take a bit of time to get back used to planting my ass in a chair doing nothing except paperwork for half the day. But I digress. Again, just keep your head down, and I’ll figure out whatever Rhea’s plotting.”

Byleth’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his skull, “Is that all you called me here for, old man?”

“Actually,” Jeralt set his drink to the side, pushing himself up from his desk and pacing over to the corner of his office, “I have a little present for you.”

The old knight captain removed a light box from atop one of his tightly packed shelves, tossing it over to Byleth. The younger mercenary caught it easily, taking no time to admire the fine polished oak before setting it down and popping it open. The moment he did, Byleth wanted to slam it back shut and kick the box out the window. It was a custom officer’s academy uniform. Long sleeves and slacks with matching leather boots, it’s stitching and embroidery silver rather than the usual gold.

“Good grief… you people really are trying to domesticate me, aren’t you?”

“Just put on the damn uniform, son.” Jeralt demanded, “Alois got that custom made for you, and you have no idea how much a pain in the ass it was getting the tailor to make it without sizing you first. I’ll never hear the end of it you keep running around in that crusty old overcoat.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever.” Byleth relented, pulling out the clothing, burning a hole through a garish cloak with his glare, “I’m not wearing this stupid thing, though.”

Acting with as much quickness as he could manage, Byleth stripped off his clothes and tugged the uniform on, taking a bit longer with all the buttons and ties than he’d like to admit. When he finished lacing his boots, he stood and noticed something he missed at the corner of the box. He pulled it out, finding and emblazoned cap. He popped it onto his head, tugging at the bill as it slid over his messy hair.

“Well? How do I look?”

“Spiffy. For once.” Jeralt snickered, “Trust me. The ladies will love it.”

“Fantastic...” Byleth breathed sarcastically, tugging at the cravat around his neck, “Not sure about this damn thing, but I like the hat, at least.”

“Just make sure you keep it neat and tidy... and behave while you’re wearing it. Remember, you’re representing all of Garreg Mach in those clothes. And just think of the hell Seteth will give you if someone goes whining to him that you’re besmirching the Officer Academy’s good name in uniform.”

“I’m quaking in my boots.” Byleth said, dropping his old clothes into the wooden chest, pulling something off his old trousers before kicking it shut, “Can’t forget this.”

“Your lucky dagger, huh?”

The smallest of smiles crossed Byleth’s lips as he strapped the blue sheath to his belt, looking fresh, crisp, and ready to tackle the whole world.

* * *

The uniform was easy enough to move around in, Byleth supposed. At least in comparison to how stiff it otherwise looked. As Byleth emerged from the crowded mess hall, he looped around through the expansive reception hall, deciding to pay the market a visit to kill some time. Perhaps find a cute, scantily-clad girl selling kegs full of fine ale. That'd be the best case scenario.

“Greetings, professor! Nothing to report!’

As Byleth heard that earnest voice call out, he ducked behind one of the reception hall's towering pillars. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of a death glare from Manuela, nor have Hanneman pester him for more crest experimentation. He poked out his head, looking through the open gate. He watched a common gatekeeper enthusiastically chatting up Jeritza, who stood by, his face as unflinching as the mask covering it. As it was usually, Byleth supposed. Although, he wasn't one to talk on that front.

“Amazing.” Jeritza cut the gatekeeper's uneventful report off, “I don’t care.”

The gatekeeper wilted like a sunflower in winter, sputtering dumbly as Jeritza completely ignored him and continued on his way to the stables.

“Ah man.” the gatekeeper grumbled, eyes towards the ground, “I can never read that guy.”

Byleth paid the downtrodden fellow just as little mind, walking past him without a word. As he was passing, he caught the sight of a familiar girl. Dorothea. To his chagrin, she was with a Serios Knight, and she walked a bit too close to him for his liking. He stayed quiet, creeping behind them until they waltzed to a sparsely populated corner of the monastery, between the pond and the stairs leading down to the market.

“Well… I had fun today. You wanna do this again sometime…?” Dorothea asked the knight with a sultry, flirty mewl, tenderly brushing her soft fingers against his breastplate.

“Of… of course! I’d love to, Dorothea.” the knight replied in a shaky voice that betrayed his excitement.

“Until we meet again.” Dorothea winked at him, stepping back and waving him goodbye. The bastard in ivory armor turned and left for the knight's barracks, a confident swagger in his every step. Byleth grit his teeth, barely restraining himself from jumping out and kicking the stupid knight down the stairs as he passed. Instead, he waited until the shiny son of a bitch was out of earshot, and swiftly paced up to Dorothea.

“Oh! Funny seeing you here, Byleth. You fill out that uniform nicely.”

“....” Byleth kept silent for a moment, eyeing her up and down, “...I know I was late to join class, but how long were the rest of you here? A week or two?”

Dorothea frowned, “What does that matter?”

“Just a little early to be hitting on some knight, I think.” Byleth said, “Besides. What does he look like under that armor? Probably some fat, ugly, old bastard. Am I right?”

Dorothea's brow furrowed, and she rightly became angry and defensive, “And what the does that matter? Who are you to tell me who to date? What gives you any right to judge me?”

“I’m just saying you deserve better. You need a real man.” Byleth declared, two fingers pinching the rim of his cap, imagining himself radiating with enough masculine energy to kill a lesser man from it's sheer splendor.

Dorothea’s nose scrunched up, sides of mouth curving. She laughed, then it was Byleth who looked perturbed.

“Sorry. But you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not just going around dropping my skirt for everything that moves here. I’m doing this for my future.”

“Your future?”

Dorothea nodded towards him, “I was a diva before I came to Garreg Mach, y’know. All the boys go crazy over me now when I’m young, but I’ve seen and heard enough from the older performers to know that's not going to last forever.”

“So you’re looking for a husband to support you, huh?”

“That’s right. I need to take the initiative before my hair turns gray. Otherwise… well, I’ll be up a creek without a paddle. Believe me, looks are fleeting. I’ve Everyone and their mother loves you until your tits start to sag.”

Byleth slowly hummed, sounding unconvinced, “Is that really what you want, though?”

“Of course it is!” Dorothea huffed, “I’m not just looking for just any idiot with heavy pockets. If my standards were that low, I’d just get married to some lonely old man, wait a few years, and claim his inheritance. But I know that I'd just be lying to myself and to my husband, and I’d end up alone and miserable either way.”

“Ah. I see.” Byleth rubbed his chin, nodding along, “In that case, how about a date?”

Dorthea snickered, further irritating Byleth.

“What? You barely know me. And I just said I don’t date for fun… are you seriously saying you’d take me as your wife?”

“I could picture worse fates...” Byleth nodded, eyeing her up and down, not even trying to hide his lustful leer, “But… no. I never said that. As long as you’re dating around, though, what would it hurt just to go out with me just once?”

“Well, I do know this nice little restaurant at an inn I stayed in once. I wouldn’t mind paying it another visit, y’know?”

Byleth held up a small satchel of coins, jingling them about. Byleth had ample amounts of cash to his name from his time as a mercenary, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to throw it around.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“Fine. Since you’re so persistent.” Dorothea finally relented, “One date."

* * *

“This isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic evening, y’know…”

"Sorry."

Byleth wasn’t going to claim that some dark, dinghy back alley near Garreg Mach’s town square was a hot spot for young couples either. But he wasn’t a romantic; he much preferred ale and fucking to wine and dancing. There was a nippy chill in the air, but with the heat of their bodies pressed together, they managed to keep cozy and warm. Byleth had already discarded his cap and jacket, leaving them carelessly strewn atop a forgotten crate, which just happened to be conveniently large enough to block them from the view of any passersby.

Dorothea wiggled, hands braced against the alley’s cool brick wall, her skirt hiked up and her lacy panties around the ankles of her heeled boots. She was starting to have second thoughts about letting Byleth lay her so easily, especially as she felt the monster in his trousers spring out and throb between her legs.

“Damn." was all the shocked Dorothea could manage to choke, feeling more heat stir as Byleth rubbed his thick erection against her lower lips. "Hold on... just hold on. Don’t… don’t stick it in.”

“Ah… really? I’m gonna have a bad case of blue balls unless I pop off once or twice-”

“Calm down, you big baby. There are other ways to fuck, y’know.”

Dorothea squeezed her thighs together, trapping Byleth's thick cock between her taut flesh. Byleth sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing a bit faster as her cunt drooled more lubricant onto his shift. Not nearly as good as a pussy, but still pretty damned great. Putting one hand over Dorothea's to brace himself, Byleth was free to lean in even further, until his chest was kissing her back and their heads were side-by-side. 

"Ah... Byleth..."

He thrust harder and faster. He reached around, going between her legs, gently rubbing his thumb over her clit as he fucked her thighs. Their rapid breaths puffed in the cold air, and without either really knowing it, their lips started drifting closer together. Before they could think, they were sharing a sloppy kiss. Tongues intertwined, sharing their spit, dribbling down their chins.

Byleth pulled back, moving away from the wall, grabbing hold of Dorothea's thick thighs and fucking them with a slower, stronger pace. Dorothea hissed as his angle changed, reaching around with one hand and gripping his belt for further support. The mercenary's greedy hands explored further, slapping her pert ass, running along her sides, and squeezing her breasts through her uniform. Each little sound the squirming dancer made only spurred Byleth on.

Both of their crotches were sticky messes, and Byleth's crown was starting to leak with precum. The mercenary grit his teeth to keep his moans down. He was close to release, and no force in Fódlan would be able to stop him from finishing at that point. He seized both of Dorothea's wrists, thrusting between her thighs with enough force that a loud clap sounded off as his hips met her ass. 

"Byleth, fuck, fuck! Someones gonna hear us..." Dorothea hissed between clenched teeth.

"Don't... care..." Byleth grit out.

With a final thrust, Byleth pulled Dorothea back until she stood straight up, his dick still between her legs. Throbbing, it blasted out four long, thick ropes of cum, which stuck to the dirty brick wall before them. 

"Ah. That felt fucking great." Byleth breathed, shaking his sticky, cum-coated penis free from Dorothea's equally soaked thighs, "But we've still got a whole night to burn. Right?"

Dorothea, still fixing her frizzed hair and adjusting her cap, brushed a few curly chestnut strands from before her eyes and looked down, letting out a tiny squeak as she bore witness to the Ashen Demon's insatiable sex-drive.

“Aah… no freaking way... you’re still hard? Seriously? Don’t you have a refractory period?”

“I’m a guy, Dorothea. You just had my cock between your legs. Byleth snorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, shaking his boner about for emphasis, "I don’t have a period. Duh.”

“No, you dummy.I mean, most guys get softer after they cum, but you’re still… you’re still throbbing! Goddess, what is this? Did you eat some weird herbal supplement? Or is this some kind of messed-up crest power?” Dorothea demanded an answer.

“Nah. I’ve always been like this. I can usually go three or four times right in a row when I’m backed up.”

“Three or four? You’re joking. What else is wrong with you?”

Byleth rubbed his chin, briefly running through the long list of his other odd medical conditions, “Well, keep this on the down-low... my heart doesn’t beat.”

Snickering, Dorothea stepped out of her skirt and panties and gently slapped Byleth across his muscled chest, "If you're gonna fib, Byleth, at least make it believable."

"No." Byleth insisted, bringing the diva in closer, "I'm serious. Check it."

Dorothea wondered just how her path in life had led her to the point she was checking a horny man's heartbeat in a dirty alley with her ass hanging out for anyone to see. She sighed. Hesitantly, Dorothea leaned her ear against Byleth’s naked chest. She felt heat across it, slick with sweat, the warm blood in his skin; and for almost two minutes, not a single heartbeat.

“Goddess… its really not… are you some kind of undead-”

Dorothea gasped. Between her thighs, she felt Byleth’s hard cock pump with a rush of blood. Having her so close excited him even further. He rocked it back and forth, his shaft grinding against her lips and bumping into her clit. She shuddered, bracing her hands on his shoulders and hugging herself closer to him.

‘Ah… seriously… is this some kind of joke…?”

He spun Dorothea about, pushing her slightly forward, forcing her to brace her hands against the wall once again. Unrelenting, Byleth dropped to his knees and thrust his face into her crotch, grabbing hold of her butt as he shoved his tongue deep within her. Eyes popping open, Dorothea bit down on her ring finger to suppress a long moan.

Dorothea lost count of the hours they spent in that back alley, on what she could confidently say was the most unforgettable first date of her life, for better or worse.

* * *

Byleth silently hummed. He let the crisp flavor of the dried tomatoes and other vegetables play across his tongue, carried forward by the fluffy eggs, all the way down to his stomach. He had to admit, he was a bit skeptical, at first but the little eatery’s vegetable stir-fry was indeed heavenly.

“See? I told you it was good.” Dorothea snickered from across their table, washing down her own bite with a sip of red wine.

“Mmm.” Byleth mumbled. He grabbed his long empty beer stein and filled it back up using the water pitcher between them. With both he and Dorothea working together to put fluid back into their bodies after the little romp, the pitcher was already nearly empty. Alcohol was good, but hydration was essential.

They sat together at a little booth in the corner of the place. At that time of the night, the only other customers were a father-and-son merchant duo eating stew and a lonely old man nursing a tall glass of hooch, each on opposite ends of the restaurant. Which was well and good, because they both reeked of sex.

“...so. How many other girls have you slept with?”

Byleth’s next attack on the plate was momentarily halted. The question didn’t exactly offend his sensibilities, it had just come so entirely out of the blue he was stunned for a brief moment.

“Well… shit. It's not like I keep count.”

Dorothea let out an airy laugh, “Fair enough. How many other girls have you slept with since you came here, then? Or I am the first?”

“Nah. There was one other. Believe it or not...” Byleth went on in a hushed tone, making sure Seteth wasn’t secretly the old man, in disguise and trying to uncover the scandal, “Professor Manuela. I railed her a couple of times in a row last moon.”

"W-what?" Dorothea sputtered, nearly choking to death on her next bite of vegetable stir-fry.

“What's wrong? Is she your mom or something?” 

“No, no. Of course not – more like a mentor. You know how I said I used to sing in the opera? Manuela and I were both in the MIttlefrank company." Dorothea huffed, "I was actually kind of hoping she'd be our professor this year."

"Mmm." Byleth grunted in agreement. Even with Manuela furious with him, he could imagine time in class would tick by much faster with Manuela's mature body to admire rather than having to listen to Jeritza prattle, sounding like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"I guess it'd kind've be stupid to call you a liar now." Dorothea breathed, poking at her meal with her fork, "And you don't seem like the type to lie about that sort of thing l. So, how'd you do it? Manuela had lots of boyfriends, but I never thought she'd go for a young guy like you."

"Well... I'm pretty sure it was a heat of the moment thing." Byleth drummed his fingers against the table, "After she heard I like to sleep around, she got all pissed. Now, she wants nothing to do with me."

"Manuela and I are in that same boat, I suppose." Dorothea said sadly, playing with a lock of her hair, "Maybe I'm taking my time for granted by hitting the town and playing with you like this."

"Nah." Byleth snorted, "Fuck me all you like."

His crude joker brought a soft laugh from the diva. More than Byleth had hoped for. Dorothea's hand slid across the table, and Byleth's gaze shot down as he felt her soft fingers graze his knuckles, “Do you know why I took a chance with you, Byleth?”

“Go on.” Byleth replied, deadpan, “The suspense is killing me.”

“Truth is, I really don't have that great of a reason myself. Usually, I hate stupid pervy flirts like you… but...” Dorothea sighed, carefully studying his face, “You didn’t come at me with some cheap love poems or gaudy jewelry… you really just like to have sex, and thats the end of it.”

“Thank you.” Byleth grumbled, slapping his palms against the table, “Its just fucking. What's the big deal?”

“Exactly. We all have our own issues, and you’re certainly no exception. But it’s that earnestness of yours I really appreciate.” Dorothea giggled lightly, “Heck, you’re almost like a kid in that way.”

Byleth grimaced, "Y'know, Manuela didn't call me a kid. And she's like... I dunno. Twenty or something years older than us." 

“Well. Was I at least a better lay than her?”

“On the account she actually let me stick it in, I’d have to give that award to Manuela.” Byleth said, taking another deep swig of water, "But it isn't too late to one up her, y'know."

"Sorry. I'm not that easy." Dorothea teased him, voice quieting as she watched the inn's proprietress approaching their table with the bill. 

"Well. We'll see." Byleth muttered, dropping some coins and a nice tip for the waitress, offering a hand to help pull Dorothea out of her seat. She graciously accepted, and both walked out the restaurant on tired legs holding full stomachs. The streets of the market were starting to empty, stalls closing up and the citizenry snuffing out their lights, leaving only the moon and stars to shine down on Garreg Mach.

"Thanks, big guy. Tonight was fun." Dorothea cooed, leaning over and delivering a quick peck on his cheek, "Catch you later, By."

With the feeling of her lips against his cheek lingering on his skin, Byleth watched her skip back towards the monastery. He laid his fingers against the spot where her lips touched him and smiled a tad wider than his stony face usually allowed.

"By, huh?”

* * *

“Well, well. Had a fun evening?”

Byleth heard Sothis before he saw her, floating in a reclined position a few feet away. Just his luck, to have the ghostly little gremlin chide him right before bedtime.

“That I did.” Byleth said flatly, walking right through her and continuing on to his dorm, “I didn’t get to fuck her pussy though. Whatever. Next time, for sure. Anyways, I’m still counting it.” the Ashen Demon snickered, "Another one down."

“Oh, by all means. Don’t let me sour your perverted little game.” Sothis let out a humorless chuckle, floating after him, a specter drifting through the moonlight, “I’d just take measures to ensure this inane sex spree doesn’t end up backfiring.”

“Backfiring? What are you talking about?” Byleth asked without stopping, thankful it was late enough on campus that there were no students around to bear witness to him speaking into the air like a lunatic.

“Are you really that dull? Or do you honestly think sleeping with a boatload of women at once won’t cause any sort of friction between them? What about what they’ll think of you?” Sothis huffed, “Have you already forgotten how Manuela acted when she learned what a philanderer you were?”

“Hey, I’m a perverted fuck. I don’t try to hide that. Not my fault Manuela didn’t take the time to learn that before hopping into bed with me.” Byleth shot right back, “It's not like I’m trying to create my own harem or something.”

“Oh… but I’d bet you’d adore that, wouldn’t you? Yes, you’d certainly bask in that feeling of domination and power. How does it sound? Having a pack of needy, love-struck girls throw themselves at your feet?”

“Maybe I’d enjoy it.” Byleth said, “Maybe not.”

“Lecherous brat.”

“Flat ghost.”

“I-I’ve already told you I’m no phantom!” Sothis huffed, arms already shooting for her chest, “And as I’ve said before, my endowment is none of your concern!”

“As long as no one else can see you, I guess not.” Byleth chortled, rounding a corner and ascending the steps to the dormitories, “Alright, go haunt someone else. I’m planning on catching some z’s tonight.”

“You’d best. Its already nearing midnight, and you have class in the morning.” she wagged her finger at him, making Byleth suddenly acutely aware of what it’d be like to have an overbearing mother.

The young mercenary entered his room, locking it tight once more before he disrobed. Still in his undergarments, Byleth walked over to his desk, where the collection of knives sticking his crude drawings of all the ladies who had caught his attention were located. He pulled out one more dagger from his collection, sticking it into Dorothea's picture. Satisfied, he threw himself into bed. He pulled his blanket up, ready to fall into a peaceful slumber. 

“Sylvain… oh goddess… SYLVAIN!”

Byleth’s eyes sprung right open. That was a girl's voice. An unfamiliar girl, yet a girl nonetheless. And she was clearly wantonly crying Sylvain's name. Sylvain, the guy from the Blue Lions. Byleth had no clue that the bastard was situated right above him. Nor that the ceiling between their rooms insulated sound so poorly.

“You like that?!” he heard Sylvain scream, followed by several worrying loud thumps. But the girl’s screams were that of ecstasy, and Byleth soon found his teeth grinding together as they refused to cease.

Snarling, Byleth rolled over, trying to stuff the edges of his blanket into his ears. It proved a fruitless act. The girl’s wanton moaning continued to tickle his ears, only for his excitement to be killed by Sylvain’s ugly grunting. Byleth peeled his eyes back open, now spotting a tiny pinprick of candlelight pouring through his ceiling; surely the same place the sound was leaking through.

“Fuuuuuck...” the girl slurred.

“Whoa.” Sylvain laughed, “You totally soaked me!”

Having more than enough, Byleth finally decided to put an end to the charade. He shot from bed, yanking on some trousers, and launched himself into the chilly night air. He marched right up to the dorm’s upper level, pacing feverishly down the hall until he found the bastard’s room.

Byleth could faintly hear both laughing. He looked down, seeing no candlelight leaking out into the hallway. Sylvain had wedged a thick blanket under the door to help mask his debauchery. Not deterred, Byleth pounded his fist against the wood. The two still in the room went silent. A long moment later, Byleth heard naked footsteps plod against the ground. The blanket was tugged back, and a smirking face framed by sweat-matted orange hair peeked out.

“Oh, hey. Its you. Sorry, Byleth. Was I making too much racket? Sorry, I guess that blanket I stuffed under the door wasn’t enough to-”

“No. You’re right above me, and theres a little hole in the floor.” Byleth grunted angrily, “It lets in a lot of noise. So keep it down.”

"C'mon, man. We're kindred spirits, right?" Sylvain tried to smooth things out nice and gently, "I wouldn't ask you to stop having fun just because I could overhear it. How about you let me finish up here, and I buy some sealant tomorrow?"

"I need sleep tonight." Byleth demanded, "So no, shut the fuck up."

Sylvain shook his head to both sides, tapping his fingers impatiently against the door frame, "Or what? You gonna go tattle on me to Seteth?

"No, I'm just going to kick your ass." 

"Well, you probably could." Sylvain snickered, not intimated in the least, "Then what? Get expelled for assaulting a fellow student?"

Byleth clenched his teeth. There were still many girls he'd like to spend time with before the end of the semester. Getting kicked out of Garreg Mach would certainly sink his chances. And aside from that, he was sure Seteth would try to deliver a more extreme sentence just to add salt to the wound. Byleth grit his teeth, stuck in place with no recourse.

"This isn't over, you piece of-"

Sylvain shut the door in Byleth's face, and quickly, the girl's moans picked back up. Byleth wanted to curse Sylvain's name, bust down the door, and dropkick him out the nearest window. However, making such a scene wouldn't have been a wise move. Even if he wasn't already too furious to go slink back to bed, the sounds of fucking would surely keep him up all night.

Not caring he'd be further violating curfew, Byleth left the dorms to go let off steam.

* * *

When it came to night patrol, none of the church's men seemed to care too terribly about their job. Byleth wasn't complaining. He grabbed his old coat to protect himself from the chilly night air, sneaking past the guards and swinging by the school's greenhouse, where fresh fruit grew in excess from the trees outside. He picked a ripe apple, munching down on it as he waltzed towards the campus's famous fishing pond.

Just as the last time he visited it, the moonlight and twinkling stars played gorgeously across it's dark surface. The Ashen Demon admired it for a moment. Then he callously shattered the peaceful waters, skipping a smooth stone across the surface with a casual fling. He threw several more, trying to take his mind off his current stresses.

Two, three, four. As Byleth let the fifth stone fly across the murky waters, he at last spotted a figure hunched over at a nearby dock. Byleth at first assumed it was a guard drinking on the job and was unable to hold his liquor; that was, until he noticed the figure wore not a single piece of armor. Deciding to investigate, Byleth checked if the coast was clear and went over to check who it was.

Quietly, he crept behind the crouched figure, slowly realizing it was a girl. A girl wearing a large, baggy black school uniform, serving well to hide her figure. His footfalls met the dock's boards softly, and she didn't seem to notice his approach. As he drew nearer and nearer, he picked up she wasn't crouched over in pain - she was praying.

"Dear goddess... please..."

The girl was muttering, and Byleth couldn't pick up but a few words she was saying. Feeling like a bit of a creep, the Ashen Demon decided to make himself known and tapped her foot with his boot. A high-pitched squeak followed, and the girl spun around, clutching at her pounding heart.

"Oh... I'm sorry... am I in your way?"

"Neither of us are supposed to be here." Byleth told her flatly, "And what the hell would I be doing here anyway? Besides night fishing or killing myself.”

"Right. Of course." the cyan-haired girl whispered, clenching her eyes shut and bowing her head towards him, "Please forgive me. Its just... I couldn't get any sleep again... and the church is closed at this time of night, so... I came out here to pray..."

Not too bad of a spot to pray, Byleth thought, before realizing he wasn't particularly religious and wouldn't have a solid grasp on the subject. He hummed, staring into the pale moon rippling in the surface of the inky pond, then back to the girl, a name starting to materialize as he studied her face.

"Hey. You're Marianne, right? From Claude's class."

"Yes." she confirmed, aiming her baggy eyes towards his feet, not saying anything more.

"I didn't see you during the mock battle." Byleth thought back on the event, though he hadn't met a good half of the Deer in battle, "Who knocked you out? If it was Caspar, I'll sock him one good for you."

"Oh? I... that won't be necessary." she stuttered, tapping her fingers together, "I just... healed my teammates. I'm passable with faith magic, so I just hung around for backup. But the moment I saw Edelgard come at me, I-"

"You gave up?" Byleth hazarded, "Good choice. I don't know how she can hit so hard with those little noodle arms of hers."

Marianne said nothing, and a terse silence clung between them. Byleth had no idea how to deal with the woman. Even from the small chat that had listed only a minute or two, he could figure she lacked confidence, completely and utterly. Almost like Bernedetta. Yet, something was far different about the way Marianne carried herself in comparison. Still, he figured he'd try giving his old perverted ways a shot.

"Hey, Marianne. How does a date sound?"

"Are... you of a noble house? My father said those were the only kind of men I needed to be consorting with." she almost whispered, still avoiding making eye-contact with him at all costs.

"Nope." Byleth relented quickly and remained undeterred "But hey, I never said we had to get hitched. Let's just fool around for a bit... if you're up for it."

"I... shouldn't." Marianne breathed, seeming to totally miss Byleth's insinuations, yet blushing vividly all the same, "I'm sorry. I have to go now."

Byleth watched her scurry off with a quickness, back towards the dorms. He stood at the dock for a moment, pondering just what the hell the poor girl's problems were. In fact, there seemed to be many problems plaguing his classmates. Dorothea needed to find a suitor, as did Ingrid, according to Hubert. Marianne seemed to have the same issue.

And then there was Bernie's anxiety, Petra's struggle to blend into a new culture, and Byleth was sure even Edelgard had her own woes. Just as Dorothea said during their date - everyone had their issues, and that surely applied to Mercedes, Anette, Leonie, Lysethia and Hilda as well. Just maybe, Byleth figured, girls would be more receptive to his advances if he aided them with whatever was weighing on their minds.

Then again, why did money and statues matter so much in the first place? Byleth was a simple man, so he didn't try to squeeze his brain to produce answers. Besides, he was too damned tired to do thinking of any sort at the moment. And surely, Sylvain had to be done at that point in the night. Sighing, the Ashen Demon lazily kicked an empty bucket into the water and made his way back to his bed.


End file.
